Spain
by Pajaros en la cabeza
Summary: I am Spanish and I love my country, and since I think its history is quite underrated, even among Spaniards themselves, here is a multi-chapter which travels in time to explore the events which shaped Antonio. T for some adult language and mentions. Picture by MoonyL00ny in DeviantArt. NOW COMPLETE. Originally named Ñ
1. And nation became flesh

**_HETALIA _****IS A MANGA BY HIDEKAZ HIMARUYA**

* * *

**While some characters and situations will be fictional, the events narrated in this fanfiction are part of the real history of Spain. However, note that, as much research and impartiality I will try to put on this project, errors will surely appear here and there.**

* * *

That day, everyone said it, the sun seemed to shine brighter, warmer—not really hot, just—perfectly warm.

And from one of those rays of pleasant sun, a miracle was born.

The light caressed the golden grass in between the two mountains, and there, in that spot, the soil started to crack, a silhouette slowly forming.

They arrived when it was too late to watch the phenomenon, but apparently just in time.

The man stopped the cart when his woman stood up, suddenly alarmed by something he didn't perceive.

What, he was about to ask, when she stopped him with a gesture of her hand.

They listened, and thanks to that silence he heard what had caught her attention.

A child? Crying? In the middle of nowhere?

Both of them got out of the cart and walked around, trying to find the source of that voice. It was not their mind playing tricks on them, they were really hearing a baby cry!

There! The man ran about five yards away and crouched down to grab something from the ground. Turning around to gaze at his woman with his eyes wide open, he approached. In his hands there was a very small child covered in dirt.

The lady gasped and the maternal instinct got over every fiber of her entire being. She quickly but gently grabbed the child and cradled him in her arms, whispering to comfort him, while her husband asked aloud, to the mountains, if there was someone around. Whoever had left that baby in the open had to be far by that time—and heartless too. Their own child had died and grief was unbearable. Who could leave a son, such a beautiful son at the mercy of the weather and the wolves, to starve?

He was so beautiful, even dirty as he was...When he opened his eyes and looked at them, too young to really see nothing but shadows, and they saw his eyes were green as emeralds...

The woman looked at her husband and that was enough. A smile formed in the man's beard. He too approached to see the boy. His rough and big hands caressed his head delicately, as if the baby was made of glass. Such precious thing...

On their way home, as the baby held onto his new mother and hungrily sucked that breast full of milk he was offered, they started thinking about possible ways to name him.

None of them realized that his stomach was completely flat, lacking the scar all humans beings share: the navel.

* * *

**This is a little headcanon of mine, concerning the birth of nations. I think they are born from the elements, from nature, depending of the place, as newborns. ****The setting was inspired by one of the possible origins of the name, «spane», which meant in an old European language the flat space between mountains. Also, our country is said to be always sunny, so I picture sun having a lot to do with Spain's origins. **

**Furthermore, the title from this chapter is taken from a history book called like that which talks about 1808 being crucial to the development of the national feeling, based on a quote from the bible. And there is nothing wrong with the title. Just "ñ". Our particular letter from the alphabet.**


	2. The big and terrible

**197 b.C**

* * *

It was a good life. No worries. Lots of love. Years after he was found, claimed by that couple and welcomed in the tribe, three more siblings were born. Mael, which is how the child was named, was soon a very dear member of the community, always running around as if he had unlimited energy, always laughing, always willing to bring his mother the flowers he picked from the prairies help his father with his blacksmith work. Life was placid those first eight years of existence.

Until he heard that name for the first time.

"Rome."

There was something worrying Mother and Father. Father was attending a tribe assembly while Mother looked out of the window with an expression which worried Young Mael very much. He was Young, but he was old enough to understand something was not right. She didn't smile as often as she used to.

"What is it, Mother? What's Rome?"

"Rome..." she started to say, her voice faint. She shook her head, nevertheless. "You shouldn't think of such things, my precious."

"Why not? You are talking about it all the time, Father and you."

She didn't say anything, her eyes gazing through the window again.

"What is wrong with Rome?"

"...He is coming for us" she was forced to admit.

"Is it an enemy? Like the Vascones?"

"...Worse…"

Worse? Worse than the terrible tribes from the North? Mael's imagination ran wild at the thought.

"So...Is Father and the other men going to war against them?"

He was devilishly perceptive, like all children. The movements of her throat didn't go unnoticed.

"Mael, I want you to promise me something…"

"Anything."

"...Whatever happens, please take care of your brother and sisters."

So it was true. They were at war. Father was likely to be killed, and Mother too. Mael surprised himself barely reacting to that implication. That was no time to cry of worry. Mother needed support. If something happened to Father, he would be the man of the family and he would have to take the responsibility to take care of all of them. So there was only one thing he could have said.

"Yes. I promise."

But what worried Mother didn't turn out to be a war, but a capitulation. The tribe was too small, it was unlikely that they would have gotten any help. And Rome was so savage, so well organized and equipped. Surrendering before the Clash even took place may have been a cowardly thing to do, but at that moment it seemed like the only sensible thing to do.

When Rome came, the tribe did nothing to stop him.

His mother had her hands on her children, as if she wanted to protect them from the men who came into the village. But Mael didn't want to be protected. He released himself from her and took a few steps towards the man who was on the front, riding a dark horse.

Rome. The big, terrible, mighty Rome.

Just as he had pictured him. His heart bounced by the sight of him.

And it stopped when Rome turned his head to him and, his eyes opening wide, he raised a hand to stop his followers.

The chief of the tribe stepped forward to greet him humbly, but Rome didn't give him the chance to speak. He was gazing at Mael in such a way that he felt shivers down his spine.

Then, he got off the horse and walked to him. He seemed so big in front of such a small child...

He spoke to him in a language he didn't understand. Mael looked around, but it seemed very little people seemed to know what was going on. The way he gazed at him...

One of the men who came with Rome asked aloud: "The Mighty Roman Empire desires to know where you found this boy."

Father stepped forward.

"He is my son."

The man translated. A fine smile appeared on Rome's face as he shook his head gently. He spoke again in that mysterious language.

"No, it is impossible. That boy is nobody's son. This boy is sacred. Where did you find him?"

"He is not sacred. He is just a child." Mother also got corageous enough to look at Rome's face and place her hands on Mael's shoulders.

Rome let out a Little chuckled and addressed the woman, even if he was aware that she didn't understand him.

"The Empire insists that he is not a child. That boy is like him. After years of wandering, he has finally found the soul of this land."

The soul of the land? What was he talking about? Mael didn't like the way that man was looking at him.

Yet, it was so bewitching...Like if he was not...human...but...something else...something greater...

"The Empire wants to know your name, boy."

"...Mael"

Rome shook his head again.

"Hispania."

"Huh?"

"That is your real name. The name you will use from now on" the translator told him.

Hispania?

Rome stood up and took Mael's hand.

"This boy is now the Empire's property" the translator declared.

"NO!"

Mael flinched. It was so unexpected to hear his mother cry like that. See her pounce on that big, scary man to grab him.

"You can take whatever you want, even me, but if you touch my son, I will kill you with my own hands!"

Rome seemed surprised at first, but soon smiled again. He even laughed. By the way he did, he seemed to have considered it kind of seductive. He spoke again in his particular language.

"The Empire has expressed his desire to take you as a concubine…"

That was too much for Father to hear. Running home to get the hammer he used to work, he came back to smash Rome's head with it.

The response from the Romans wasn't delayed. One of them, the closest, with a swing of his sword, decapitated the man. The body had barely hit the floor when the air was filled with shocked cries. Above them, Mother's.

Mael gazed at the headless corpse just for a moment. Because he then turned his head to Rome.

He saw him standing up, blood running down his head like a cascade. His head was open, he could see it. And, still, he stood up, grunting, but he was alive. He was alive enough to deliver the order.

And his men started taking prisoners.

Rome, in the meantime, tried to grab Mael, finding extreme resistance in his mother, who screamed nonsense and defended her child with teeth and nails. It was not until he used his sword that he could finally get the boy in his hands.

Calm until that moment, Mael started to scream, as he was grabbed on the horse. In the chaos the village had turned into, he couldn't find his siblings. He couldn't find them. He had sworn to protect them.

* * *

'Antonius'. That was a word that was repeated frequently when he was around. It meant 'brave', and Hispania had sure earned that nickname.

All attempts to civilize that boy had been useless. It was like trying to tame a wild horse, Rome said. He had started to make a progress in Latin, and that was great, but he only did so to find ways to insult him. He was like Lusitania, who was also being fiercely defended.

It didn't have to be this difficult, Rome thought. But, yes, children were so stubborn...

It was then when he got the idea. He couldn't reach the boy because he was too big and old for him. But someone his age, or at least younger than he was...

"Gaul! Come here a second!"

* * *

The men were laughing at him. He was trying to punch them, but they only had to place a hand on his head to neutralize him. Just a push and he was sent to the ground.

"Fighty, are we? Too bad you are weak as an ant."

"Let me go!" Hispania cried, trying to punch that insolent legionnaire.

"Sure, we'll let you go when Rome allows it!"

"Get it on your head, child: you are now Rome's property" another man said to him. "The sooner you accept it, the better."

Hispania roared and tried to break his nose, but the man only had to push him gently to make him fall on his back.

On the floor, the boy closed his eyes, but he could still hear the laughs. He wanted to cry. He wanted his mom and dad...

"Are you going to cry?"

That voice sounded like nothing he had heard before. He opened his eyes to find someone he hadn't seen before, either.

Golden hair, blue eyes, a matching dress, and a bright smile. That was what he found.

Hispania got up quickly.

"Of course not! I'm going to escape and I'm going to chop off his head myself!"

"Are you talking about Rome?" the little person laughed. "I hope not. He can crush you like an insect, just using a thumb."

"I don't care! At least I'll die with honor! At least I would have tried…"

"Hey, come on, don't tell me Rome is that bad."

"He killed my parents! He sold my tribe as slaves and burned my village to the ground! Now I am alone in the world and it's because of him!"

"But they were not your real parents."

"Huh?"

Hispania gazed at the child, who was looking at him with a small smile.

"You are not human."

"Of course I am!"

"No, you're not. I can see it. I know because neither am I. We are semi-gods, silly, don't you know?"

"That's all a lie!"

"Then how do you explain that Rome isn't dead after what your so-called father did to him?"

"That's because he's an evil wizard!"

The blond child laughed.

"My, you are so silly!"

"I promised my mother I would take care of my siblings…"

"Forget it, Hispania. They are not your family. Just humans you came across." They sighed, crossing his arms behind his back. "You were lucky, though. The people who found me sold me. I was a slave until Rome found me and took me as his servant. It's an improvement, I assure you."

"So...you are...like me?"

"Yep. My name is Gaul."

"Mine is not Hispania. It's Mael."

"No, it's Hispania. That's the name Rome gave to you. You'll have to get used to it. Really, he isn't that bad. You should give him a chance."

"You'll see when you grow up and become his concubine."

Gaul laughed again, this time louder.

"What? Did I say something funny?"

"I can't be his concubine. I'm a boy!"

"Oh! I-I thought…"

"Hehehe! You really are silly! But I like it."

"We should escape. You and me. At night, when he doesn't-"

"Well, I tried, at first, but now I think...this is better than I expected? Nah, do what you want, but I'm staying. Where are you planning to head to, anyway? Rome controls everything. No nation is free from his hand. And those who are not part of him yet...it is just a matter of time."

"...How scary...Something so big…"

"He has a good heart. He really likes us. He's not like those people I used to work with, who beat me up at the tiniest chance. I have learned a lot from him, and I'm sure you will too."

"He killed my parents…"

Gaul sighed and turned around.

"You sure act like a spoiled brat…I'll be in my tent if you grow up."

Hispania wasn't a spoiled brat. Or...was he behaving like one? He felt suddenly embarrassed at his tantrums. Yes, real warriors didn't complain when things were tough. They just acted. Gaul was right. He had a lot to learn.

"Hey! You! Gaul!"

Gaul turned around with an eyebrow raised.

"If I want to get my revenge, I should practice with the sword! Do you even know how to hold one, princess?"

Gaul smirked.

"You'll be sorry for that…"

* * *

**After the Carthaginian wars Rome's presence in the Spanish territory increased. Soon, some tribes surrendered to Rome and became part of the Roman Empire, paying tributes. Those who resisted, which were the vast majority, became slaves once the wars concluded, in Rome's favor, of course. But the Romans brought important improvements, like a unified law, Latin, the basis for our language, works such as aqueducts, walls or theatres (you can visit remains of those in Segovia or Mérida), welcomed the tribal religions, brought education...Remember that scene from The Life of Brian?**

**Featuring one of Spain's biggest influences then and now too, since Gaul was under Roman rule too.**


	3. Someone watching me

Rome didn't want to hurt him, evidently. He just pushed him to the ground and laughed comically, like an actor interpreting the role of the villain.

"Is that all you can do, Hispania? Is that all your might?"

The boy grunted as he got up and charged again, roaring.

It was a game. Hispania had grown quite a few inches and acted as if he was a man already; Rome had to call him out on his error. He was not using his whole potential there. He didn't want to hurt the boy.

Oh, but he tried so hard. His blows were fierce. Hispania really had some hot blood and showed it swinging his sword violently. It was just a wooden sword, none of them would get hurt, but Rome was sure that if he had allowed him, he would have impaled him with it.

The thrust was so powerful that the sword flew from Rome's hand. Hispania then hit the man in the stomach, making him fall on his knees, and placed the tip of his sword on his throat.

"Surrender, old man!"

Rome panted, then laughed.

"Using your fists in a sword fight is something low. But well thought!"

Hispania slowly grew a smile. Then laughed too and helped the Empire get up.

"You will be a great warrior one day."

"You only say so because I beat you."

"No, I am being sincere. You have potential, Hispania. A strong, passionate heart. That is the most important thing a warrior should have."

Still panting, Rome placed his hands on his hips.

"Well, I'll be damned...Losing to a child...But you are a good one, so it is no dishonor...You know what? You deserve a treat."

"What? Are you taking me fishing again?"

"No. Something even better. I will allow you to recover your siblings."

The smile disappeared from Hispania's face.

"...What did you say?" he asked in just a whisper.

"I admit that things got out of hand when I found you. And I am sorry. So I want to make it up for you. I will tell you where your family went and give them freedom."

"You can't be serious…"

"What? Don't you want to see them again?"

"Sure I want! Are you kidding? It's just...It's just…"

Since he didn't know what to say, Hispania said nothing. He just embraced Rome in such a way that the man almost fell to the ground again.

"Hey, careful! Hahaha! I am an old man!"

He was so excited about these news that he didn't think of the real reason why Rome was being so charitable to him. He was so absorbed by the thought of seeing his family again that he couldn't even imagine that the great Roman Empire was dying.

His siblings, Alano, Sheila and Bricia, were serving in his ruler's land, across the mountains and the seas. Lands he had only dreamed about. Accompanied by Rome's men, Hispania made his way to Ravenna, so restless that he could have done the trip by foot. Too slow, he thought. He was so, so excited about this...A lot of time had passed. He hoped they were alright and their masters had treated them nicely. Sheila was too small, he hoped they had fed her well. As for Alano and Bricia, well, Alano was a bit slow, but Bricia was so Smart. She would have made the perfect servant. Sure they treated her well. He had so much to tell them! He had Rome's favor now, nothing bad would happen to them now.

When they got to the city, Hispania could barely believe what he was seeing. People would often tell him years after the visit that he had barely seen anything, everything looked way more spectacular in another time, but he, who had never left his land, thought it was the most amazing thing. The streets, the looks of the people, the soldiers...

They stopped at a big, sumptuous _villa _and Hispania barely let the coachman stop the cart to jump out of it.

"Alano! Sheila! Bricia! It's me, Mael! I'm here!"

He only encountered grown people who looked at him with surprise. Even among the slaves and servants he didn't find familiar faces.

"It's Mael! I came to bring you home!"

A woman, who was carrying some big bed sheet in her hands, came to his encounter, gazing at him. Hispania turned to him.

"Hello! I came to find my little siblings! Their names are Alano, Sheila and Bricia. Do you know them?"

The woman took her time before she spoke.

"...Yes, I knew them…"

"Do you know where they are?"

The men coming with him finally found him. The woman exchanged a look with them.

"...You didn't tell him? You made him come all the way here and didn't tell him?"

"...What?" Hispania asked, his smile disappearing.

There was a pause.

"What should you have told me?" he asked the men.

"Bricia...was my grandmother."

Grandmother?

Hispania looked at the woman in front of him. When he left her, Bricia was just four years old. That lady was...what? fourty?

"She died long ago, of old age."

Hispania still looked at the woman with his mouth half-open.

"Alano, my great-uncle, died of a fever thirty-eight years ago. And Sheila, my great-aunt, she died of childbirth, much before that…"

The silence was only broken by a weird noise coming from the sheets the woman was carrying. It turned out it was not something she had to wash: wrapped in there, there were two toddlers. One of them started to cry, the other, seeing him, started whimpering too. Hispania only saw two red curls sticking out.

* * *

Rome was weak, there was no way the Caesar could hide it, nor Rome himself. He went back home and Hispania didn't see him again. Before leaving he left some people in charge of him—or, actually, his possessions. But even those men couldn't defend Hispania.

When the people from the North arrived, they could do nothing to stop them from claiming that land. Hispania didn't even try.

* * *

**589 a.D**

* * *

Had it not been for the leyends passing on from generation to generation, Spania would have passed as a simple boy. His servants had dressed him nicely, according to his condition of nation—more than any noble or King—, but it was not unfrequent to see him in the streets playing with the children, playing music, in short, doing all those things that were not expected from someone like him. He looked like a fifteen year-old boy and acted like one.

As if almost all kings of his house were not dying in horrible circumstances. Not even after Hermenegild's rebellion and final death in prison seemed to make the boy even cringe. He was really living in some cloud, far away from the problems around him.

"Life is not a party, young man."

Young man, he said...Spania couldn't help chuckling at that. He was sat by the window of his bedroom, trying to compose a song , but it seemed he had no ideas. He only had the music.

"What is it, then?" he replied, his fingers imitating the position to play an instrument.

"_Vallis lacrimarum est_"

"Huh. Well, we'd rather jump off the window, then."

"Spania, you worry me. The way you are acting."

"Look, I know the throne is a very juicy prize worth killing a relative or two...I don't judge you guys. I just...don't want to get involved."

"But you must get involved. You are the soul of this land."

Reccared sat by his side.

"I am still waiting to receive your blessing."

"You have your bishops to do that. You don't need me. Isn't God a higher authority than I am?"

Reccared stared at him.

"...I am not sure I approve the way you talk about the Lord."

"Why not? It's His fault your brother is dead."

"It was not God's fault. It was my father's. It was his hand the one which turned against his own children."

"You keep talking about God, how merciful he is, how loving, omnipotent, yet I've seen things he could have stopped…"

Spania paused and took deep breath.

"As I said, life is a vale of tears. But so many beautiful things await in the next life…" Reccared said.

"Yeah, alright, but I've seen quite a few generations grow old and die. Someone like me..."

His sobs were so unexpected that Reccared was surprised. He embraced the boy and tried to comfort him like a father to a son.

"What is God's plan to someone like me...? Why did he make me different than everyone else? You talk about the next life as if that was something I can aspire to. Why do I have all these feelings inside? It's...I...I tried to talk to Him…"

"And what did He say to you?"

"Nothing but…"

"But?"

"...I-I don't know...It all feels like some kind of obscure plan...Like I have a role here, but no one gave me instructions...My prince, sometimes I feel so lost…"

"Spania" Reccared sighed, "I feel like you consider that the Lord is someone who is there to destroy and punish. But he is our father. He takes care of us. All of us. Even you."

"The people who have cared about me have left me, all of them…"

"God never leaves his children."

Reccared removed the cross inside of his garments and gave it to Spania.

"I always carry this with me. It reminds me of the tribulations of Jesus Christ—and the fact that somebody is watching me always. I want you to have it."

Spania reluctantly took it. It was a small cross, made of gold, with a few decorations.

"I want you to keep it so it reminds you that you never walk alone. You never have and you will never be."

Spania wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and caressed the warm surface fo the cross.

"I...well, I should confess that...every night I pray for my mother and father, my siblings, and...all people that have been nice to me...I also pray for you...I hope...they don't put poison in your drink or stab you 'accidentally'..."

Reccared smiled.

"Thank you."

"Yeah...Uhm...Sure, I'll be in your baptism...Hey, can you…?"

"Yes?"

"Can you ask the bishops if someone like me can get baptized too?"

Spania felt kind of embarrassed by the way Reccared was looking at him.

"I mean...I don't know if my kind has a soul but I guess it's worth trying…"

The heir to the throne smiled.

"Sure the Lord appreciates your efforts."

* * *

**So, as the Roman Empire got weaker and weaker Barbarians started settling in the península. Rome had allowed them in exchange of their military services, but in 475 King Euric declared himself independent from the authority of the empire. This way, the Visigothic Kingdom took the power.**

**A detail worth mentioning is that in that elective monarchy very few kings died of old age, as there was always someone who killed them to take their place. Around 578, Hermenegild, son of the King Liuvigild, rejected arianism (a christian doctrine which states that Jesus Christ was created by God and his subordinate, not God Himself) and embraced catholicism, which resulted in a rebellion against his father in which he died and became a martyr. His brother Reccared here converted to catholicism and unified the whole territory under that religion, erasing all trace of arianism. **

**By that time, the province of Hispania was named Spania.**


	4. Open mind

Everything was fine until King Roderic fell for that girl, La Cava and affronted her. Then, she asked her father, count Julian, and he called the Moors in to get his revenge.

Well, that was what they said. Spania had the horrible feeling that the coming of those Berbers to his land was something he had brought upon himself. God was supposed to be on their side. He was supposed to protect His children. Yet he had given victory to the infidels. The people said it was King Roderic's sin which had offended God...but what if it was him? What if it was something he had done?

The King had fallen at the Battle of Guadalete. He saw it with his own eyes, couldn't help it. He killed as many Moors as his sword allowed him, but found himself surrounded. He had no one around to protect him. He was tired and wounded. Panting, he had to accept his fate was sealed.

One of them, dressing sumptuous clothes and helmet, dismounted and walked to him. Spania knew who he was. Ṭāriq ibn Ziyād. The commander. The one who started all of this. Spania's chest swelled. He couldn't fight anymore, but if he was to be claimed, he would retain his honor.

Much to his surprise, Tariq removed his helmet and knelled down before him. His men mimicked him, leaving Spania unsure of what to do or say.

"_Sidi_" Tariq said. "You have shown much courage at war. But you have lost, and now I have to request you to come with me."

* * *

**793**

* * *

With the new rulers, new customs came. Ablutions were mandatory and even though he was given the freedom not to do it and any other good Christian wouldn't have touched the water in order not to imitate those Moors, the first time he visited one of those Muslim baths the experience was so strangely delightful and refreshing he prayed God for forgiveness because he started doing it often. His clothes also changed. He found himself dressing colorful, exotic silk which was pleasant to the eye. Even his name changed at that time: he was referred to as Al-Andalus.

He had a few servants, but his favorites were Akheem and Raghid, which were comical to see together because the first was tall and slim and the other, short and fat. With them, Al-Andalus would explore the streets of Cordoba and talk to the locals, play games, sing and read.

It was funny. In those streets he found so many Christians like him. Even Jewish people. It seemed the new emir had no problem with other religions co-existing with them...as long as they kept to themselves which religion they thought was the true and only one. However, he found that the majority of his people had converted to Islam.

"Sorry, my lord, but if we can avoid paying taxes that way..."

"Our God proved to be inferior to Allah..."

Well, he couldn't say anything against the first excuse. Had he been in their skin, he would have probably done the same. As for the second, no, he would have never done such thing. Even if it cost his head, he would have never turned his back on God. He never turned his on him...

Talking about the emir, he had introduced himself a few days before. His name was Abd al-Rahman ibn Mu'awiya ibn Hisham ibn Abd al-Malik ibn Marwan, but that was way too long. Luckily, Al-Andalus could call him just Abd al-Rahman. Prince. Emir. What was easier to him. He hated to speak so nicely about an infidel, but the man was really kind. The first years Al-Andalus was not collaborating and secluded himself in his chamber. The regents then thought if the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad would have to go to the mountain, and made slow advances to bring him out of his shell. They were really patient, Al-Andalus didn't appreciate it until some time passed.

These new governors were men of science. Al-Andalus learned a lot with them. The emir would often receive lots of wisemen in his court to debate philosophical and practical matters. He made sure Al-Andalus had the best mentors. In his land new plants started to grow, called rice, cotton and sugar. Al-Andalus realized that those had a great culinary potential—not only him, it seemed his neighbors were not so upset about him being under the rule of Moors, because they always wanted to trade for them!

"Hospitality links the guest, the host and God. By pleasing your guests you shall please God. So it is important to give people who come to you food and drink before they have to ask for it."

Al-Andalus didn't remember the name of the bearded old man laying in front of him. Arabic names were still a tongue-tier to him. But the man was really nice and he was glad he came.

"Then eat and drink as much as you please."

"You never know what the person in front of you is going through" the man finished his allegation with a smile.

"And I think you are right. You know? I didn't greet your people with open arms precisely..."

"You were doing right, defending your land from invaders. Any other choice would have been a cowardly thing to do.

"Antonius..."

"I beg your pardon?"

"A great man used to call me that once."

"That is Latin for 'brave'..."

"I know. I don't think I am. I...only have hot blood."

Al-Andalus paused to eat a date.

"I have had enough time to get used to it, but sometimes I don't know my own name. I was Mael at first. Then, suddenly, I am Hispania. Other people come and I become Spania, now Al-Andalus..."

"Don't you like your name?"

"It's not that. Al-Andalus...Guess it's not that bad. It's just...well...I always wonder if it is going to be always like this. If I am supposed to be always changing."

"Everyone changes. Everything changes. The universe moves. Nothing is static."

"But wouldn't it be comforting to have something to hold onto? I don't mean God. He will always be there and stay the same. But...I-I mean us. I don't know if you get me."

"I think I do."

"I don't want to lose myself with each different regent..."

Al-Andalus smirked.

"Antonio..."

His eyes turned to the Muslim.

"Maybe it's my destiny to be in the hands of whoever claims this land, but I still have some control on my destiny. And as long as I am alive, I know I'll have the chance to create the life I want. Whatever people call me, I will still be myself. I will still be Antonio."

He chuckled.

"Sorry, you were not invited to presence my epiphany...What were we talking about?"

"We were talking about making a connection with God" the man replied. "And it seems you have just done it."

"Well, I remind you that our concepts of God...uhm...differ a little bit" Al-Andalus smiled before sipping from his cup.

"Perhaps we are praying to the same god and we don't know it" the man smiled too and his remark made Al-Andalus chuckle softly. "Knowing oneself is key to get to know God."

It was the man's turn to make a long pause to savor the delicious dates in front of them.

"You may be centuries old but you still have a lot to learn, _sidi_..."

* * *

**In 711 the Visigoths lost to the invading Muslims, commanded by the Umayyad Caliphate and in just eight years the great majority of the country became a province of the mentioned caliphate, until in 929 it was declared an independent one. **

**During this time Spain became an icon of culture. Inventions from the Islamic world like paper, the mentioned plants, mathematics—including the numbers we use today—, astronomy, surgery, agriculture, instruments of navigation like the compass or gunpowder, came into Spain and the rest of Europe thanks to them. There was a great interest in ancient Greek and Roman knowledge which encouraged translation, and even between Christian, Jewish and Muslim culture there was a great exchange of ideas. To this day our vocabulary is full of words derived from Arabic and so many expressions related to God, a Muslim custom. The cities of Toledo, Granada, Seville and Córdoba have a lot of museums and well-conserved buildings related to this time. The Alhambra is mandatory to those interested in this period and Toledo is one of my favorite places in the whole world, so I highly encourage visiting it. As for the attitude, it is said that we got from the Muslims our conviction that we were fighting for the real religion and our hospitality.**

**(And, yeah, the hygiene habits of this time were really poor and since Muslims did ablutions and "good Catholics" had nothing to do with those customs, the majority of them barely washed themselves apparently. It is said that Queen Isabella I of Castile promised not to change her shft until Granada was in her hands—the reason why there is a shade of yellow in French called Isabelline.)**

**Much has been said about this time being a time of peace and tolerance between religions. Yeah, no, it is a bit of an exaggeration, but it is true that those three religions co-existed in good terms. As mentioned in the fanfic, there were even Catholics who converted because Muslims didn't have to pay taxes in their own territory and would have access to a series of rights. Customs were respected as long as nobody questioned Allah.**

**It all started to crumble as soon as the Christian kingdoms started joining forces to "reconquer" what was theirs (an incorrect term, a legend created centuries after to legitimize what really was an expansion campaign). **


	5. Por Santiago

**1257**

* * *

"Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar. He was King Sancho's champion, brave, fearless! Then, one day, King Sancho was murdered in cold blood and his brother Alfonso VI got the throne of León. But don Rodrigo made him swear that he did not take part in the plotting which killed his brother. The King was forced to swear, and he didn't forgive the knight for that...Rodrigo was banished. He was forced to leave with his wife, daughters and servants. He fought for the Moor king Al-Mu'taman to survive. Then the Almoravids came and Alfonso saw his mistake, and pardoned don Rodrigo and asked him to fight on his side. His victories in the East were glorious, I am telling you. His power was so great that the king, afraid of it, seeing he was becoming too powerful and disobedient, exiled him again, but don Rodrigo became a commander, his own lord and master. _Sidi_, is what the Moors called him in Valencia, which he earned. 'Master' in their language. El Cid. One day, an arrow pierced his chest and before dying he made up a plan to give his men a last victory. He died, the Moors were sure of that, that was why they attacked. But don Rodrigo made his men put his corpse on his horse and dress him with his armor and carry his weapons and when those infidels saw him coming right to them, they were so scared they retreated."

Castile smiled, nodding softly.

"Nice story."

"Isn't it?" Juan smiled.

"Yep. Make sure you get me a copy of that poem."

"Of course. Lucky you—you can read it."

"I told you I would teach you how to read, and I will take the chance."

"That is, if you survive this."

Castile winked.

"Trust me."

And he jumped into the ring to face the bull some young men were trying to distract. It was a thousand and a hundred pound black animal with the sharpest horns Castile had ever seen. He couldn't say he didn't feel kind of scared when he had the big eyes of that thing on him. But that was the point. That beast could kill him easily. That was the fun of that practice—else, they would have brought a rabbit.

"Eh!_ ¡Toro! ¡Toro!_" Castile called it.

The bull bellowed and charged. Castile felt his heart racing, bit his under lip—then ran to its encounter.

And when they were just a palm from each other, he leaped over the bull. He fell on his two feet, and the public cheered. Grinning, he bowed to his audience.

"Watch out!"

Too late for that. The bull had taken the chance and rammed again, and this time it got him. Cheers became screams when Castile was gored, the bull's horns sweeping the floor with him and throwing him into the air.

He fell with a grunt. The other men got to distract the animal and someone dragged him out of the ring.

"Maybe you should start from something a little softer. Maybe a chicken?"

Castile looked up to find a man with blond, long hair who was smiling at him.

"Don't look at me like that. You look like an idiot."

"I know you...You..." Castile stood up. "Gaul?"

The man grinned.

"Gaul!" Castile embraced him dearly. "Oh, wow, it's been so long!"

"Too long. Oh, by the way, I don't go by Gaul any longer. I am France now."

"France? Well...Guess it suits you better. I am not Hispania anymore, either. They call me Castile."

"Ah, yes, I heard about that. Those Muslims got to make you their slave, huh? I got to stop them, and the Christian kingdoms of your house asked me for help, but I had...let's say more important things to do."

"True, why bother saving me? Good that they've treated me nicely. Oh, well, no hard feelings. What are you doing here?"

"Since the Moors are starting to be a minor problem and a Christian man like me can go into this land without getting killed, I came to visit Saint James' tomb."

"I see many people are interested in Santiago lately..."

"If you had bothered to look at the treasures the Christian kingdoms have been keeping, instead of mingling with the Arabs..."

"You weren't that concerned about mingling with the infidels when my traders gave you the oranges, rice, oil, sugar and silk."

France chuckled.

"Guess you didn't have a choice."

"Juan!" Castile called his friend. "I hope you excuse me. I haven't seen this man in centuries—literally. And we have a lot to talk about."

"S-Sure, but...are you alright?" the man said, wide-eyed.

"Yeah, it's just blood, nothing of importance."

The two nations left the square and looked for a tavern. Castile was starting to be well-known in such places, even if they were suspicious about someone like him, having lived with the Moors, who didn't tolerate alcohol, and now, under the protection of a Christian king, going to those places. But he paid well and had quite a reputation, so his coming was always welcome. They found a decent place to drink and sat in a corner, where they could talk freely.

"It's incredible" Castile murmured, watching France from head to toes.

"It's a nice robe, isn't it?" France proudly commented, looking at his own garment.

"No, I mean how you still look like a girl who put on man's clothes."

Both of them laughed.

"And I am marveled to see you still didn't have your tongue cut" France replied. He grabbed his cup and raised it. "_À ta santé._"

"_A tu salud_" replied Castile, and after toasting both of them drank.

"This was a nice surprise" France said. "I didn't expect to find you here. After what I heard..."

"What? What did you hear?"

"Just that the Moors are losing city after city, taifa after taifa. I was afraid they would threaten to cut your neck or something of the sort."

"Oh, absolutely. I mean, you heard right: things are not going well for the emir and Castile's men kind of took the chance to kidnap me. It was not really a victory—the conquest won't be finished until the Moors are left with no land to stand on. They did it because they knew it would discourage them. And they were right. They have been trying to get me back, but it was useless. They are getting weaker. I already changed my name. I used to go by Al-Andalus, but now there is so little left of it that they made me adopt the name of Castile. There...has been a controversy about it. Maybe if all these kings and queens quit fighting each other..."

France chuckled, then his expression became a little more serious.

"...You know old Rome is definitely dying, right?"

Castile's smile faded too.

"Yes, I know...He's...got a foot inside of the tomb."

"He's got so few things to defend, and they, the Muslims, are attacking it so fiercely...I don't know what to say to little Italy now..."

"Italy?"

"Where have you been? Italy. Veneciano and Romano. Rome's grandsons! They were to inherit Rome's empire, but it seems they will have little to inherit. They are nice boys."

"Are they like their grandpa?"

"Veneciano has his artistic side and good disposition. Romano is as fierce as he used to be. Maybe you'll meet them one day."

"Maybe..." Castile paused to drink from his cup. "I can't say I feel too sorry for the old man. He deserved what happened to him in a way. He got too confident. If I have learned something is that no power, as great as it may seem, is eternal. Not if you don't have the right disposition."

"And" France smirked "perhaps do _you_ have it?"

Castile smiled.

"I would have done things very differently, yes."

"Well, well, if I had know I was in the presence of such a bright tactician, I would have brought millions of rose petals to cover the ground so your feet wouldn't get dirty."

"One day you'll be at my feet, princess."

"First try to deal with what you have at home, then come to me to tell me about-"

Inadvertently to them, a man had come into the tavern and had a word with the owner. He pointed at the two men and he rushed there.

"_¡Señor Castilla!_"

Urgh. Alfonso's right hand. How did he find him?

"You have to come to palace right this instant."

"Tell him he can show me his book in any other moment, today I just want to forget about languages, books and stuff and have a beer with-"

"Cordoba has fallen, sir."

That was all Castile needed to pay the attention required.

"What?"

"Cordoba is Christian again!" the noble smiled. "You are required to assist to the party that is to be held!"

"Well, uh..." Castile glanced at France and he shook his hand.

"Go. Have fun. I am happy for you, but I won't be joining you. I must continue my path. I am glad I found you, though."

"Yeah, I'm so glad I got to see you once again. May Santiago protect you."

Castile stood up, so did France, and both of them hugged.

* * *

**Al-Andalus started dividing with time into taifas, small kingdoms, and the Christian kingdoms, confined in the North of the peninsula, took advantage of this. Tradition tells us about God being on their side this time, with Saint James (Santiago in Spanish) coming from heaven riding a white horse and killing Moors, the victory of Covadonga, in which a small group of Christians defeated an army, or one of our greatest legends, the Cid, which became a warrior icon of the Christian conquest. **

**Little details have been slipped here: one is the consolidation of bullfighting. The growing pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela to visit Saint Jame's tomb. Alfonso, the king mentioned, is Alfonso X of Castile, the Wise, who encouraged translations from Latin and Arabic into vernacular Castilian, author of poetry and very interested in arts and science. The Christian kingdoms taking so long to fight the Muslims because they had internal problems and seemed to be more interested in fighting each other.**

**The title of this chapter is the usual warrior cry. Santiago, after all, is Spain's patron saint. **


	6. An act of faith

**1485**

* * *

Spain stopped listening for a second and gazed at the man in front of him. He said he was from Genoa, but he really seemed Spanish and had some Portuguese air? Columbus, his name was. Christopher Columbus. He didn't know who had invited him, or how did he get the chance to talk to him and his monarchs. Luck, maybe? The man had a way with words, that was for sure. He was really interesting to him—although the word the court would have used would have rather been mad.

"A new way to Chipango. Just picture all the unclaimed lands you shall find."

Spain turned his head to Isabella and Ferdinand. Their expression, he thought, was of great interest—of course, because any innovation which could give them an advantage was welcome at that time—, but also great reluctance. Portugal had rejected this man's project, why should they accept?

"And" one of the ministers addressed Columbus with a frown "how do you know those lands exist?"

"I just know, sir."

"Oh. Then, if you say so..." the man turned to look at his king and queen, with an expression of mockery.

"Solid proof would be desirable" Ferdinand said.

"I have been there, your Majesty" Columbus was forced to reveal. "Some years ago, I visited those lands in an expedition. That is why I am so sure that we shall find something there."

Spain took another bite to the apple he was eating, then glanced at Isabella and Ferdinand again. They were whispering into each other's ears.

"May I give my opinion, your majesties?"

"Speak" Isabella nodded.

"This might be a great chance we can't miss. If we find those lands, we will have the chance to convert the people we find to the real faith. Also, think of he gold and spice."

He smiled when he saw a frown in Ferdinand's face. That meant he was considering it seriously.

"But what if those lands do not exist?"

"Then what do we lose promising him a reward?" Spain replied.

That was a good question Ferdinand lost no time to ask.

"And what do you expect in return, mister Columbus?"

"The rank of Admiral of the Ocean Sea" the Genoese replied calmly, "the post of viceroy and governor of the lands we find, and ten percent of the proceeds."

Spain may not have the tact, but he expressed what everyone in the room felt when he whistled with his eyebrows arched.

"Maybe you would like me to give you my underwear and let you sleep in my bed too, sir?"

"I only request what I think is fair, taking into account the profit."

There was a pause, Columbus gazed at the noblemen and the monarchs around him.

"I am fully aware that my project is very ambitious, but I only request you to trust me. If everything goes well, your glory will have no equal."

With a bow, he left the room, leaving a great impression.

"How dare he!" a fat nobleman exclaimed.

"Do not listen to such seller of chimeras, my lord and dame" another one said to Isabella and Ferdinand. "He is surely a man who should be locked away in a madhouse."

"I have never heard such a foolish thing!"

Since the audience was over, the monarchs and Spain left the room and the three of them took a little walk around the galleries of the palace.

"I would like to hear your opinion, _España_."

Spain turned his head to the queen.

"Well...It sounds completely crazy. That's why I like it. We would only risk...what? Three, four ships? The world is very big. There may be things out there nobody has found yet."

"I know you would be very happy living the life of a sailor" Ferdinand smiled.

"I can't deny I like adventure, my lord. It's in my blood."

Isabella chuckled and caressed his chin affectionately, as she did with her own children. Spain responded taking her hand as they walked.

"Your opinion is very important to us" she said. "We shall consider Columbus' offer carefully."

"There are so many things we have to consider..." Ferdinand said.

"And we wanted to have a private moment with you."

Spain looked at his king and queen and thought he didn't really liked the way they were looking at him, how they both stopped to look at him.

"Our sons and daughters, even those who have not been born yet, will help us make peace with the foreign nations and expand our influence. You know it was our ancestor's ambition to be one with Portugal" Ferdinand said.

"Yes, I know it well."

"Well, Isabella is to be married to Alfonso the Fifth of Portugal" Queen Isabella continued. "The terms of the wedding have been carefully negotiated. But we can't have a solid alliance without you."

"Me?"

"You are special, Spain. Your kind is not like ours. Where there is uncertainty and weakness, you remain solid. Time rots everything; you prevail."

"Yes, I understand, but what do you want me to do?"

"Our children shall be married. And you too" Ferdinand said.

Spain needed a moment before speaking.

"Me? Married?"

Ferdinand nodded.

"And who do you think I should marry?" Spain asked.

"Portugal" Isabella answered. "And we are coming to terms with Austria."

"But I thought both Portugal and Austria are men?"

"This is more of a symbolic marriage, of course" Ferdinand said. "Of course it is not real marriage. We do not expect you to have children."

"And I thought bigamists were whipped?"

"It is symbolic, my dear" Isabella remarked. "Don't you worry about it. The Lord will understand that there are things that must be done. We have authorization from the Pope himself if that helps you feel better."

"Oh, well...If the Pope approves...Then I guess it's alright."

"It will be just cohabitation, my son. We expect nothing from you than kindness to our allies" Ferdinand said.

"Well, sure, I'll treat them fine, of course...Okay, if you are sure about this...I have nothing to say on the matter."

"We will only do it if you are willing, my son" Ferdinand said.

'My son'...

"...Of course. I won't fail you."

Isabella smiled. Spain would have given anything to see her smile.

* * *

**Queen Isabella I of Castile and Ferdinand II of Aragon got married in 1469 are virtually the best known monarchs of the history of Spain. It was during their reign when very important things for our history happened: the conquest of the remaining possessions of the Arabs in the peninsula, the first expansion of the Spanish territory and the support to Christopher Columbus' project to find a new way to reach Asia, which resulted in the discovery of the continent of America. Their kingdoms, however, didn't merge in one until Isabella's death. Still, they worked together and this is the first time we hear the name Spain, España, to talk about the country.**

**Their expansion beyond the Spanish borders was achieved thanks to a marriage policy: their children married princes from Portugal, Austria and England. However, I did not include Spain's wedding with Portugal because a real union between them didn't happen until centuries later. Wait for it.**

**And again another hint: in Spanish, the -ez you might find in many family names means 'son of'. Thus, Gonzalez means 'son of Gonzalo' and so on. In this case, I like to think Spain adopted the human surname of Fernandez from Ferdinand, Fernando in Spanish. **


	7. In the name of the Lord

**1492**

* * *

"What was his crime, again?"

"Judaizing."

"Ah."

Isabella turned her head to Spain and saw him resting his head on a hand, the cross of his rosary on his lips.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes, it's just...dinner is hurting my stomach. I'll be fine in a while."

"Are you sure you want to stay?"

"Of course. I am supposed to be here, right?"

"I know you would love to be somewhere else..."

Spain turned his head to Isabella and saw her smiling a bit.

"There is nothing left to do here after we claimed Granada. These news about territories beyond the seas..." Spain muttered.

"You sure do have thirst for adventure."

"I really do."

There he was, the _marrano_, mounted on a donkey, wearing the scapular in which the sentence was drawn clear so everybody around could see what happened to those who plotted to attack the only real faith: the flames of Hell. Unmoved by his pathetic expression of resignation, Spain turned to Isabella.

"Alright. If that is your wish, you may go."

"But my queen, I do nothing here apart from—Wait. You said...?" Spain blinked with astonishment.

Isabella smiled and nodded.

"Go and explore those lands, if you are so eager to see new things and put your skills to work."

"Oh, Isabella, but...! Are you sure about it?"

"You have a very important task to do, Spain, don't forget it."

The queen's eyes turned to the square, where the prisoner had been dismounted and dragged to the pile of wood where he would receive his punishment. Her eyes seemed to gleam and her expression turned stone cold.

"We expelled them but I doubt that will be enough. They say they accepted Jesus Christ as their Lord, but I am sure most of them keep practicing their heathen rituals. Jewish people are the vilest, most treacherous creature on the planet, and you can't trust them. Never do, Spain. They claim to love you, but they keep collecting riches while your people goes through hard times; they killed Christ and are proud of it. I heard you talk about the old times..."

"When Muslims, Christians and Jews lived together?"

"Yes. But I don't mean that. When the Moors came."

"It was God's design."

"He was teaching us a lesson. Their coming and victory was not an accident. The Jews helped them come. They are like plague, rotting everything good from the inside. And what do you do with an illness?"

Spain glanced at the man who was being tied up to a post.

"You do everything possible to eliminate it" he replied.

"So it won't hurt you. That's it. We have been charitable, haven't we? We gave them the chance to convert to the true religion. We offered them salvation. But they betrayed us. They transgressed the law by keeping on doing their rituals—and they put our people's soul in danger by attracting them to that dangerous belief of theirs. Look what they made us do."

Isabella joined her hands, getting comfortable in her seat.

"Sometimes, Spain...One must harden their heart to protect what they love."

"I understand, Isabella. I understand perfectly."

The man was offered to kiss the big crucifix the priest offered him. He didn't even look at it, his head remaining low, almost looking as if he was dead.

"That is why I want you to go, now that Portugal and us have reached an agreement concerning the distribution of the land. I want you to go and make sure everything is alright. I want you to protect the souls of the Indians. Make sure they embrace the Catholic faith."

"And if they don't?"

Isabella turned her eyes to Spain.

"Make them."

Spain, after a second, nodded.

"You were born to do great things, Antonio. Never forget it. God is watching you."

"Then...I shall make him proud."

Both of them turned their heads to the ball of fire in the middle of the square. Inside of it, someone, something was screaming.

With the _marrano_, an effigy of a Freemason who died in prison was thrown into the fire.

Spain's lips curved that the sight.

* * *

**Oof! If there is something we Spaniards are not proud of next to fascism is the Inquisition. The famous Spanish Inquisition. **

**Yes, it was as terrible as it is pictured. It started with the Catholic Monarchs for multiple reasons: unity, choosing a scapegoat to avoid internal conflict; a way to have a common authority in such different territories; for religious convictions that the Catholic faith was the only one and Spain had the task to protect it...Although it is famous to go against wizards and witches, in fact it was a tool to control heresy. There was an obsession with people converted from other religions using Christianity as a cover, while they kept practicing their traditions. Anyone could betray their neighbor or relative and see them go through a really unfair trial, torture, and the confiscation of their properties. A lot of scientists, as well as the people mentioned before, and those who went against the law or what was considered right, like bigamous or sodomites were punished. Since people were illiterate then, the prisoner was dressed with a garment in which there was a drawing of what their crime was and the sentence. If the person died in prison before the execution, an effigy was burned in their place. ****Little funny detail: some of the big guys in this period, and I remark Torquemada, the great inquisitor, came from Jewish families. **

**During this time there was an obsession with the 'purity of blood', mostly among the lower, poor classes. The recently converted may be rich and well formed, but at least their ancestors were Christians! We can see this clearly in Sancho, from _Don Quixote_.**

**There is a reference to 1492's expulsion of Jews from Spain, which brought us a noticeable scientific delay, but, as I said, we were proud not to have anything to do with those 'marranos' (a form to speak about those converted people, which is also a way to say 'pig').**


	8. Love is madness

**1500**

* * *

Spain cleared his throat and Belgium turned around to find Spain extending his hand to her.

"May I have this dance?" he asked her.

She looked around with a smile.

"I'd love to, my lord, but you know, I am supposed to be working..."

"Uh-Uh. First, no need to call me 'my lord'. Second, this is a party, isn't it? It wouldn't be a real party if not everyone was having fun." Spain replied.

"What about me?" Romano complained, carrying a silver tray with appetizers in his hands. "You only ask her because she is a pretty girl!"

"You too, Romano" Spain chuckled. "You're right. You may have a little rest. And if someone asks you who gave you the right, tell them I did."

"Yay!" like the child he was, Romano dropped the tray and ran away.

Spain laughed and turned to Belgium again, offering her his hand again.

"Well, alright, I am not as foolish as to refuse a little fun" she replied.

So Spain took her to the center of the room and joined the group of people who were dancing.

"My, my, you really look good tonight..." Spain complimented Belgium, whispering to her ear.

"Me? Oh, please, with these rags I'm wearing..." Belgium replied, blushing.

"Even with these rags, you are still the star that shines the brightest here."

"Oh, dear, it is true that they say about Mediterranean men...I would watch my mouth if I were you. Your princes might not find the way you speak to me decent."

"And keeping to myself something like that? Do you want to see me explode? Nope, I can't do that."

"Ahem."

Both turned their heads to see Austria standing by them.

"Shall I have this dance?" he asked, extending a hand.

"Of course!" it was Spain the one to reply, leaving Belgium and holding Austria.

"Hey! I meant the miss!" Austria frowned and tried to push away.

"Come on, sad little man, we are going to be married in little time, don't you want to dance with your husband?" Spain grinned, and he grabbed Austria to dance with him.

"Everybody is looking at us! Stop making a fool of yourself!"

"This is not going to work. You are too serious" Spain pouted comically, letting him go and crossing his arms.

"And you are too lighthearted" Austria frowned, adjusting the lenses he almost lost in the spinning.

"What is wrong about celebrating life, huh?"

"Well-"

"Hey, you" Romano pulled Spain's robe.

"What?" Spain turned around to look at him.

"Your princess must have eaten something spoiled, because she is not having a good time at the toilet."

"Oh, dear. Uhm, excuse me for a second, dear, you can keep on reprimanding me later."

With those words, Spain left Austria and Belgium and followed Romano through the prince's castle. Without his little servant's help, he would have gotten lost for sure.

Romano yawned.

"What time is it? Is this ball going to go on for much longer?" he asked with a frown.

"I don't think so."

"I'm tired already."

"Well, I could go on until dawn."

"Sure, you don't have to clean."

They finally arrived to the restroom. It was true that Joanna was...severely indisposed. Spain could hear her whines.

He hesitated but eventually knocked at the door.

"_¿Juanita? Soy España_. Is everything alright? Should I call a doctor or...something? You don't need my help, ri-"

"UAAAAAAARGHHH!"

Spain drew back a little. Gee, it was worse than he thought! He had eaten a lot that night and thought he was fine, but now he was scared!

"I-I'm coming in, alright?" he warned, and he pushed the door.

What he saw made him gasp, and Romano, behind him, wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"Ewww!" the child exclaimed.

"Romano, quick, go call somebody!" Spain ordered him.

Romano didn't need him to say it twice. He fled, not wanting to see what he saw: Spain's princess on the floor, with her legs spread and between them a baby covered in blood and liquid.

The baby was baptized with the name of Charles, and from the very moment of his birth he was not only destined to be the King of Spain, but also Holy Roman Emperor, Archduke of Austria and Duke of Burgundy. The child who was born in the toilet.

Some time would have to pass until he became those formally, but diplomacy was still working. Everyone was already looking at Spain. The birth of the heir of both his house and Habsburg's meant him and Austria's lives were going to be connected.

And such connection was achieved as Isabella and Ferdinand had planned.

Soon after the birth of little Charles, a solemn, private ceremony was carried out in the cathedral of Burgos. There, Spain and Austria promised each other eternal fidelity and the sharing of their possessions.

They became married and Spain found that he had just become someone's chief. He, who had been a servant during his centuries of life, now possessed several nations. Belgium, Holland, Holy Roman Empire and Romano. Not to mention what was waiting for him in the New World.

And all thanks to that baby.

"Look at you, _Carlos querido_...the blood of so many dynasties runs through your veins..."

It was a peaceful afternoon, he had requested to see the child. He had some experience with children: after all, he had been the playmate of so many royal babies, and their children, and their children's children. He loved children and liked to think they loved him back. He was funny and played all sorts of things with them. They were God's most beautiful creation. So innocent, so pure.

Charles also looked so pure. So small...Who would have thought something like that would inherit so many kingdoms?

They knocked at the door. Austria came in. Spain made him a gesture to approach carefully. The baby was falling asleep and didn't want to disturb him. So Austria proceeded carefully, in silence, and stopped by Spain's side to gaze at the child without opening his mouth. Little Charles closed his eyes and Spain left it in his cradle carefully, as if he was made of something extremely delicate. He didn't want to let go of his tiny hand but he eventually did. Placing a hand on Austria's shoulder, both of them left the room.

"I sometimes wish they stayed like that forever."

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

"It's Miguel da Paz. The prince."

"Yes, what about him?"

"We just got the news that he has died."

"...Really?"

Austria nodded.

"You know what that means, right?"

"That means...Joanna has just become the heiress of Castile and Leon..."

"Exactly. And you and I know she is not prepared for something like that."

Spain crossed his arms.

"Well, yes, I know her faith is very weak, but, hey, I used to think God was only a fairy tale and changed my mind; I'm sure she-"

"I am not talking about her religious beliefs. You and I know Joanna is crazy."

Spain frowned.

"Our marriage will not start well if you insult my princess."

"I am insulting no one. I am just saying what everybody thinks. Haven't you seen her?"

"She adores your Phillip and what does he do? He leaves her alone all the time. I try to distract her but everyone in Europe knows he seeks the company of other women. She knows. I would be jealous and angry too if that happened to me! And you know her siblings, John and Isabella, have died recently. She was close to them, it's been terrible for her. Why can't you understand her?"

"Alright, I understand. But do you think a woman like that can reign? As if women were not unstable and emotional enough."

"I trust Joanna."

"You are letting your emotions cloud your judgement."

"Sometimes I feel like the ones who are cold are you. All of you."

That was the first of their 'marital fights'. And, much to Spain's disappointment, Austria was the one who was right after all.

* * *

**1506**

* * *

Phillip was dead. And there were people who already speculated about Joanna having much to do with it. Everyone knew of his infidelity and her mental weakness. He was sick and probably by her own hand.

How could they think such a thing, Spain asked himself, seeing Joanna still by her husband's side, as she had been since he fell sick, seeing that look on her face, as if the one who died was her?

Joanna was serene upon seeing such a tragic ending, yes, and it was a praiseworthy behavior. But then she started showing signs of madness.

The king was to be buried there, in Burgos, but Joanna wanted him to find eternal rest in Granada, in the royal mausoleum her mother had ordered to build. She didn't stop until Phillip was exhumed and transported in a four-horse chariot, accompanied by a group of monks which took care of the corpse and prayed. And him and Austria, of course. It was their duty to follow.

People talked, and they had a good reason. Like a vampire, Joanna avoided the sunlight and only traveled at night, escorted by a procession of torches which made everyone who witnessed it shiver.

She was heavily pregnant, Spain had tried to convince her to stay at the castle, but she refused. Nothing would keep her away from that coffin.

The pest was threatening them. She even had to stop in Torquemada to give birth. But nothing could make her change her mind. Not even Spain.

"Juanita...Please...You don't have to do this. This is killing you."

She didn't even stop to rest at a convent, as if she was afraid that her husband would come out of the coffin and find another woman to satisfy his needs with.

"Please, you have to go home."

For the first time in months, Joanna reacted. She turned her head to her nation and looked at him into his eyes.

"...Antonio...Love is quite like dying...But what do you know? I doubt you ever loved. But maybe one day you will love someone...and you will understand..."

Again those empty eyes, again breathing for that rotting corpse...

Her father got what he wanted: he was now king of Castile and Aragon. He had now a mission for Spain: convincing Joanna to bury her husband once and for all and find a...proper place to stay and mourn. And he didn't know how he was going to do that. He really had no idea.

Poor Joanna. Poor fragile humans.

* * *

**Out of the Catholic Monarchs' children, Catherine (Catalina) of Aragon is well-known for being one of the wives of the English king Henry VIII, and precisely the one who gave birth to Mary Tudor "Bloody Mary" and the one the king divorced from to marry Anne Boleyn. Her sister Joanna (Juana) is even more popular here in Spain due to her tragic love story. She was married to Philip the Handsome, prince of Austria, and she immediately became obsessed with him. Unfortunately, Philip really liked women and his wife was not enough to him. Joanna's state of mind (probably anxiety, depression, schizophrenia or psychosis) was taken as a sign of madness and so, when her mother Isabella I died and she and her husband became heirs, Ferdinand and Philip used it as an excuse to get her out of the way and claim the prize. Philip died due to an illness and Joanna, after wandering Castile with his corpse, as secluded with her daughter, leaving the throne to her father and then her son Charles. Ferdinand married a seventeen year-old girl and tried to get a male heir, but he died of a likely abuse of aphrodisiacs while making love to her.**

**There is a great movie made in 2001 called _Juana la Loca_ (translated into English as _Mad Love_) which tells Joanna's story and I recommend watching if you have the chance.**


	9. Spain, the Conqueror

He had heard stories about those women, but he had to see it for himself to believe it. Indian empires with an extraordinary beauty, and fierce too. After all, they had survived in such an hostile environment for a reason.

"And by royal decree, these lands are now property of the kingdom of Castile and their people shall be from now on subjects to the crown."

All eyes were on him. Nobody really paid attention to what he was saying, because it was unlikely they even knew Spanish. No, they were looking at him. At his pale skin. His features. His clothes. They had never seem something like it and they were convinced it was supernatural.

Those eyes. Oh, those eyes staring at him, so hard, so proud. Spain understood at that moment why many of those who had come into those faraway lands never wanted to leave.

* * *

**1520**

* * *

"_Agua_."

"..._Agua_."

"_Planta_."

"Pla_...Planta_."

"_Tierra_."

Aztec didn't repeat this time. Instead, she gazed at Spain and he smiled at her. In her hand was one of those rolls with dry plants, which she had lit, and now sucked, expelling smoke.

"You are making a great progress" she continued to stare at him, and Spain ended up giggling. "What are you looking at?"

She then caressed his chin with the tip of her fingers.

"I never thought the gods would be so beautiful."

"If you want to make me blush, you are doing fine" Spain chuckled.

Oh, yes. A god, alright. Quetzalcóatl—however that was pronounced. The principal god in her mythology, no less. It was both silly and flattering. Him! A god! Well, he had been considered a god in the past, not aging a bit as centuries passed, being able to regenerate from his wounds in a matter of minutes...But hearing those things from this gorgeous Indian made it seem even better.

"But there is just one God, my dear. Don't worry, I shall explain the whole matter to you and-"

"Are you?"

"Hm?"

"Are you that only god?"

She was smirking. Of course she clang onto her Pagan ideas. That would mean a lot of work, but her disbelief seemed so charming at that moment...

"No, I'm not. I wish I was."

"Your power, I heard, has no rival."

There was a rival indeed. That thick-eyebrowed imbecile called England. But he had a reputation to maintain. He couldn't let Aztec know there were more people like them, rivals to his power.

"I am not. Because there is you."

He saw her smile. And what a smile. Aztec was fierce, he heard, but her smile was so hypnotizing—it would haunt him for centuries.

He caressed her hair, her cheeks, then kissed her lips.

He didn't regret the intimate times he spent with her. He had sent a letter to his monarch in which he expressed his will to marry her. She and the other nations they had found. He was sure he would accept. That ensured the Spanish would have full control over the land, the Indians—and the gold.

But then all plans, all the comradeship went to hell.

* * *

Their 'little games', as his men euphemistically said, were interrupted by the death of seven of their own, including captain Juan de Escalante, by the Aztecs, in a dispute between Indian tribes. Cortés was outraged and took Aztec's leader, Moctezuma II as his prisoner. Then things got ugly.

"Release him this instant!" Aztec yelled.

"He is a traitor!" Spain replied. "It's his fault my soldiers got killed!"

"Our enemies did it! Those you call friends..."

"Tell your people we are staying."

She glared at him. Spain broke the distance between them to glare at her.

"Tell them we are going nowhere."

"Indeed you are. You are going to release Moctezuma and leave my domains now!"

Spain only got to grab her arm. With the quickness and lethality of a venomous snake, Aztec, with a knife she had to have hidden somewhere in her dress, stabbed him in a side. He saw her just moments before her tribe came to take her somewhere safe. As if she needed saving. Even at that moment, with flaming eyes, she was hauntingly beautiful.

* * *

**1521**

* * *

Spain watched himself in the mirror, half-naked, to watch the wound inflicted by Aztec. He usually healed in a matter of minutes, even severe injuries, but months had passed and the scar was still there. Had he lost his gift? No, impossible. It was Aztec. Nothing hurt a nation like another nation.

Sighing, he put his shirt on and walked to the desk, where some letters awaited him, just brought in the ship that had arrived that morning.

The first one was Austria's.

_'Spain. _

_I understand you have duties you must take care of in America but you must be informed about the situation here. King Charles has inherited great power but also great problems. Your aristocracy is very concerned about his crowning, because you know he has been raised in Flanders and, as you know, he barely speaks Castillian. I wish language was the only problem: for what has reached my ears, the main problem is that he has brought his advisers and these proud noblemen are not very happy about the idea of losing their privileges to some foreigners. They are trying to make Joanna queen at all costs. _

_Your people are not the only ones who look at our monarch with suspicion. I am sorry to say we didn't wait for your approval but we, including England in this equation, are now at war against North Italy and France. Italy is just a teenager, but he is under the influence of France, who has tried to steal Holland and considers you have too much power. He has been recurring to very nasty tricks. Both him and Italy are starting to spread nasty rumors about you, in fact, I am hearing numerous voices accusing you of ignominious crimes. His Majesty and I are taking care of everything, but I must be sure we can count on you. No great power comes without a price. I know your merry and trusting character, and I do believe it can bring you trouble, because you want to be everybody's friend, you are so eager to please, see the good in everyone in your path, and it is not until you have a knife in your back that you realize you have trusted the wrong person. You are my husband, my destiny is tied to yours, for the good and the bad, I appreciate you, so allow me a piece of advice: do not give the Indians the chance to use your affections against you. It is better to be feared and hated than to be loved, for love is just a form of manipulation.'_

Spain took some time to digest what he had just read and then opened the other letter. Charles'.

_'My dear Antonio._

_Allow me to write to you as a friend rather than your king. You have raised me, and my mother, and my grandparents, since the beginning of my dynasty. They have brought me up to respect you and love you, and I certainly do, not guided by the opinion of others but moved by your affections. I have always come to you for advice, and you have been frank to me. This time, it is I the one who wants to warn you._

_I have been hearing you are certainly enjoying your stay in America. I know your lust for thrill and I do suppose you are glad you have been given the permission to go claim those uncharted lands yourself. However, rumors say you are enjoying a bit too much. _

_I am particularly worried about your relationship with the Indian nations. An unpleasant rumor says you have been caught fornicating with one or two of them. I know you well, so I am sure those are nothing but rumors, but I am still concerned, Antonio. I too have heard about the power of seduction of those women, so different to what we have ever seen, understandable in such a place where very few Spanish women can go and men are subject to their carnal instincts. I have heard about the children being born from that contact, with mixed blood and dark skin. I want you to be careful and resist the siren songs. Your blood is pure and should not be contaminated. Still, I encourage you to marry those civilizations as a way to ensure our control over the land and its resources. But beware. The Indians are treacherous by nature._

_Our power, my dear Antonio, has no equal. I am not unaware of the hate my titles have earned me. In this world only the strongest survive. Now Greed and Envy lurk, and I want you to be strong, for both our sakes. You have a great heart, I know, and that is why those who meet you love you dearly—but kindness is often a sign of weakness. Do not be weak, Antonio. Do not let these vultures devour you. You know you are the chosen one, but you can't do great things if you do not have a great character.'_

"My lord."

Spain turned his head to the door, interrupting his reading.

"We have news that the noblemen of Tenochtitlán who were willing to negotiate the siege of the city have been executed…"

'Did you cut them open yourself, Aztec?' Spain thought, his eyebrows burrowed. 'Did you offer their hearts to those feathered gods of yours?'

"What should we do now, sir?" the soldier asked him.

His God was the only one. And he required blood too. She had spilled the blood of Christians and would have to give hers.

Spain walked to the other side of the room to put his armor on, then grabbed his musket and sword. Without saying a word, he marched out to assemble his men and the Indians they could trust.

* * *

During what his men called The Night of Sorrows, around four hundred and fifty Spanish men and four thousand allies died when the Aztec Empire betrayed them. Some of them were captured and were sacrificed to some Pagan deity in a gruesome ritual. An eye for an eye. That was in the Scriptures. Spain would not let the death of his men be left unpunished.

After sixty days of siege, the city of Tenochtitlán was desperate, weak, vulnerable. It was then when Spain broke in and him and his men got their revenge.

Around him, his soldiers killed every barbarian in their path, robbed every piece of gold and silver that they considered rightfully theirs.

This was the end of Aztec.

Where was her beauty now? She looked withered like a rose which lost her scent and color. Her teeth were gritted like the snake she was. She still held her spear in her hand but had no strength left to use it. All she could do was speak her last words.

"_España_...I see now...You are no god...Just a lackey...Brought here to steal what was rightfully ours, and give us sickness, slavery and death instead...You got what you wanted. This land is ours, and all its treasures and its people. My children. Your new slaves. One day you shall look at them and fill their heart with fear so they obey you, reminding them of how you killed their mother. You will describe to them how you killed her, and Inca, and Maya and everyone who got in your path. Because you are your god's hand. The great and powerful _España_...Mark my words: it will not last. All that power will turn against you one day, and then you shall feel the sting of a million knives in your back, one for each of your sins. May your god forgive you because mine will chase you for the rest of your days."

But even at that moment she still had fire in her eyes. Even when her pressed the musket against her temple. Even milliseconds before he pulled the trigger.

What was left of her after the detonation fell backwards and before Spain's eyes it rotted and turned into dust. Giving him victory. And such a shiver the world seemed cold for a second.

All that was left of her were her garments and jewels. Someone stole them as a trophy and Spain didn't stop him. Where was Cortés? It was evident the empire was gone and this land was rightfully theirs. They had a lot to talk about.

Then he heard those cries, inside of the temple which had been Aztec's shelter during the siege.

Spain came in. Nobody had pillaged it yet. Not that there was something that could interest all those mercenaries. There was only her.

He found her in a basket, in a corner. Was it an improvised cradle? Did Aztec plan to sneak her out of the city somehow?

An electrifying feeling made his body tremble when he saw her for the first time. Was that what Rome felt when he found him in the village? She was not just a child, not even one of those the Aztecs kept for sacrificing purposes. The crying baby was like him.

He held her in his arms. A baby girl, practically naked, with tan skin. She shook her tiny arms and let out a mewling sound. Spain whispered to her, rocked her softly, and she seemed to calm down a little.

"Sir!"

Cortés stopped when he saw Spain with the baby in his arms. The expression on his face.

"...It is done, sir. The city is ours."

Spain nodded. After a little while, he walked out of the temple with his commander and the baby in his arms.

"I want to get this child baptized as soon as possible" Spain finally said.

"Hm? Oh. Of course."

The nation gazed at the girl once again. The screamings from the Indians still had her restless so he kept rocking her and whispering to her. Her eyes were golden. Like the treasure her mother Aztec, Mexica, kept.

Spain caressed her cheek with the tip of his finger with extreme delicacy.

"_México_..."

* * *

**Okay, here we have such a controversial piece of our history that I wanted to document myself as much as I could. **

**No, we didn't go full genocidal on the Indians as soon as we got to America. In most cases, like the one presented here, the Spanish just took advantage of the rivalries between tribes to conquer the land, and illnesses killed a lot of people. By royal decree the Indians were considered subjects, just like any other Spaniard—now, even though there were laws that prevented them from suffering any kind of abuse people did whatever they wanted there, and so they were forced to be converted to Christianism, work and killed or beaten if they didn't. And, of course, innocent people were slaughtered during the conquest. A friar Bartolomé de las Casas published a very famous paper denouncing this.**

**If I presented here a kind of romantic relationship between Spain and the empires it is because in South America there was a big case of miscegenation you can still see nowadays. This is not only due to the fascination both races felt for each other, but also a more practical reason: very few Spanish women traveled to America, so men mingled with the natives. Again, we have to clear things up because reality is somewhere between the Black and the White Legend: racism existed at that time. Some Spanish married Indian women, even conquerors such as Hernán Cortés, who married an Aztec lady known as La Malinche (who helped him and is considered a traitor to her race by some) BUT the children born from those unions were not considered Spanish. There was a caste system in which the Spanish were on top, the black and indigenous slaves were the lowest and these mixed-race people were somewhere in the middle. Remember Spain at that time was obsessed with having a clean blood. And marriage was seen as a better solution to the more frequent concubinage, which was seen as indecent. Also, this only happened when a Spanish man and an Indian or black woman married; when a white woman had intercourse with a native or black man it was considered forced almost all the time and it resulted in the man's execution. **

**Since it has been impossible for me to decide which countries were a mixture of the indigenous nations and Spain, to which degree, etcetera, I've preferred not to be very explicit, but I do have in mind the consideration I have seen in quite a few fan works by Latin American people, who present the South American countries as Spain's sons and daughters. I have discussed the issue with a Venezuelan friend of mine who also sees Latin American people as Spanish descendants. In any case, Spain has been a great influence in all of those and still to this day our relationship with these countries is very close so, even as a big brother, he would still behave like a father—you will see, though.**

**And another thing: Himaruya didn't make Mexico official, so I presented it as a lady, because I just love the designs I have found—Mexican señoritas sure have something. I had stirringwind's design for the Aztec Empire in mind while writing this. Since the only canon Latin American characters who have been presented have been Cuba and Ecuador, both males, I will have to have it my way. **


	10. God's executioner

Veneciano muttered something to Holy Roman Empire. This was supposed to be a solemn ceremony but children were still children. Spain had a hand on the little German's shoulder and could feel how the boy shook. Spain didn't say anything to them, his full attention was on the Pope crowning Charles as emperor, legitimizing him as the defender of the Christian faith in the continent. He was so proud—and unaware of the great headache the most insignificant person would bring to him.

* * *

His name was Martin Luther. From the very first moment he came into the room Spain knew he was trouble. Was it the way he looked around him? How he stop up tall in front of so many important people, even the emperor himself? Or the ideas he kept inside of his head?

"Do you know why you are here, friar?" Charles asked Luther.

The man nodded. "Yes, your Majesty."

"Are you the writer of this thesis?"

"Yes, I am."

"Your ideas have been censored by His Holiness for going against the dogmas of our mother Church. Here and now, I demand you to retract."

Luther breathed deep. He looked around him, at the princes, the men of the cloth, the emperor, Spain himself. He watched this one for long. Spain held his stare. Finally, Luther spoke.

"What you are asking me is very serious. I am forced to ask you some time to reflect on my decision."

Charles nodded.

"Very well. We will meet tomorrow morning in this same room."

Spain really hoped God appeared to that man in his sleep and gave him some common sense. But it seemed he was the one who didn't sleep very well and Luther, Bible in hand, said:

"I am sorry, your Majesty. I cannot take back my words."

Spain couldn't believe what he was hearing, neither did the audience, which protested in chorus.

"Do you insist on your heretic ideas?" Charles frowned.

"I am speaking nothing but the truth. And going against what God has revealed to me would be something despicable."

"What is despicable, friar, is that you lay the shadow of ignorance upon the minds of good Christians."

Luther then defended his doctrine. Spain had heard that before: his opposition to the indulgence trade, works not being essential to salvation, direct communication between the Lord and the people without any intermediation...But this man revised his own thesis, and he did for so long even Charles leaned towards him and muttered: "What a man!". It was Spain, however, the one to interrupt him.

"You are lucky you have the favor of Elector Frederick III, because I assure you I would have cut your neck myself for questioning my Church."

Luther softly smiled at him.

"Is violence the language you speak now, milord?"

"Do the sensible thing and retract, mister Luther. This is your last chance, for you are trying my patience and there won't be any more of them."

"As long as I am not rebutted by the Scriptures or with evident reasons, I don't want or can retract, because going against conscience is as humilliating as dangerous. God help me. Amen."

"Yes, may God help you, because from now on you are an heretic and shall be treated as such."

'May God help you too'. Maybe it was Spain's imagination, but he thought that was the last thing Luther said before turning around and leaving the room.

The emperor's response came soon: from that very moment Luther's work was banned and its possession was enough reason to press charges.

But it was then when the Germanic princes rebelled against them.

* * *

**1547**

* * *

More worrying letters from Holy Roman Empire and Austria. Charles still held them in his hand, while the other rubbed his temple. It seemed three more princes had joined the new faith. Now they claimed the possessions of the Church were theirs, since the Pope had no authority over them anymore.

"They are questioning us, Antonio" the emperor sighed. "They never wanted me to hold so much power. Now they have found an excuse to attack. They do not want to be under the Pope's rule. They do not want to be under your rule..."

"Am I such a bad ruler, Charles?"

Charles shook his head.

"You are the best they could have, my good friend."

"Then why do they want to escape from me?"

"Greed, I'm afraid. That plague called Greed."

The emperor got up from the armchair and walked around the room, with the papers still in hand

"Austria also brings us worrying news: these rogue princes are assembling."

Spain looked down at his feet, and Charles approached to place his hand on his shoulder

"Spain. The legacy of my family is in danger. The souls of our people are in danger. I need to be completely sure that I can count on you to do what it takes to preserve them both."

Spain closed his eyes and let some seconds just pass. Then, he raised his intense Green eyes to Charles.

"They made a great mistake threatening them."

* * *

**1555**

* * *

The traitors had been crushed. It was Romano's first war experience but he was brave, so brave Spain felt his chest swell with pride. The two of them, Belgium, Hungary, Holland, Holy Roman Empire and Austria fought against the insolent princes and won. Their leaders were captured and confined in Halle. Duke Maurice of Saxony was paid his services with the post of Elector, Charles was triumphant. Even Spain was in ecstasy, proposing digging out the corpse of Luther to scatter his remains, which Charles honorably refused ("let him rest, he has met his judge. I fight against the living, not the dead).

But then treason found a new way to bite Spain.

Spain got a letter from one of his emperor in which he told him that Maurice's election was a big mistake. That snake, that son of a bitch attacked him at Innsbruck and forced him to escape to Italy, humilliating him.

Then, the Otoman demon attacked, taking advantage of what seemed like a moment of weakness.

But the biggest snake of them all was France.

The veil fell from Spain's eyes. England was a threat but France was a demon he had to fight. He never wanted to believe the news about him but now there was no way he could deny them, because he was seeing it himself. He always wanted more. He didn't seem to stand seeing others being more powerful than he was, so did everything in his hand to cause their fall. His hand was behind the princes' victory.

"Everything will be alright, you will see."

Spain did not return the smile Belgium was showing him. He had brought that Indian custom, tobacco, and now smoked it by the window. It seemed to be the only thing that could calm his nerves.

A long moment of silence passed until Spain seemed to realice Belgium was there.

"They have questioned me."

But it almost seemed like he was talking to himself. Belgium's smile disappeared. Spain didn't look like himself. One hand held the pipe, the other caressed the rosary around his neck. She hadn't seen him smile in a long time, and it felt so wrong, so unnatural. The emperor had resulted damaged by what happened and it seemed it had affected Spain too, even in his looks.

"They were right, all of them. The world is full of people who will use your weaknesses against you, who will betray your friendship and forget what you've done for them...But not anymore. I make you my witness, Belgium: they will never mock me again."

The only lively thing in him was his eyes. Gleaming green. Like the eyes of a beast.

"Never. Again."

* * *

**Having made the protection and expansion of Christianism, it was evident Spain would have trouble when Martin Luther presented his thesis, which was the birth of Protestantism. Charles I met Luther and tried to make him retract but Luther insisted on his ideas. He was saved by the Elector of Saxony, who faked a kidnapping and offered him a safe hideout, from which he spread his ideas. **

**The emperor had so much power that is not surprising that royal and noble people turned to Protestantism as a way to try to escape from it. War arised and in the end Charles was forced to let each German prince decide the religion of his kingdom. **


	11. The highest moment ever witnessed

**1557**

* * *

"Stop fighting!"

"Aaah!"

"Let me go! Put me down, you stinky idiot!"

Veneciano was reluctant. France had always been nice to him, so much he had sometimes called him Big Brother. But Romano didn't like him, and that war he had caused didn't speak in his favor. So when France tried to take the two little boys with him, he resisted, and France saw he had to use force.

But he suddenly dropped the two children and let out a scream. Something in his back...It hurt...

He turned around to find a demon glaring at him. No. It was not a demon.

It was Spain.

It was hard to recognize him, with that beard he had now, his rich armor and, most of all, that look on his face.

France gasped as he buried his sword deeper into him. His legs couldn't sustain him, so he fell. Spain grabbed him by the collar before he touched the ground.

"Never. Touch them. Again" he croaked.

He recovered his sword and sent France to the floor with a kick and let him agonize there. Someone would find him sooner or later and he would survive, of course, he knew, but he would feel the pain at least, and he hoped it taught him a valuable lesson.

Spain then looked at the little Italies.

"Are you alright?"

The two of them nodded. He thought they were still shocked. He didn't suspect they were afraid of him.

* * *

Spain would remember Philip as long as he lived. He was called the Prudent for a reason. He didn't like parties, and preferred to invest his time designing a burocratic system with which he could control all of his possessions better. But he was a good man. Oh, he was indeed. He didn't like people to call him 'his Majesty', even though his power had no equal. He never referred to Spain by his name, but always addressed him as Antonio, and expected him not to use any title on him. Just Philip, Felipe. As if they were family. Weren't they, after all?

Philip fought in Saint Quentin and what saw left a great impression on him. He was so sickened he confessed him privately that he didn't want to get involved in one more battle as long as he lived.

"Don't worry, _Felipe_. Leave that to me. I can't die. And it is my duty."

Yes, he had a lot of responsibility. Every single night he prayed the Lord to give him strength to bear the heavy burden he had on his shoulders.

A burden which seemed heavier when he travelled to America and visited Inca.

While Pizarro and his men took advantage of the civil wars, he and Inca spent some time together. It was a ploy of distraction, Pizarro said to his men. For Spain, it was a relief. Aztec had fiery eyes but Inca would always live in his memory because of her sweet smile. The way she giggled when Spain sought relief in her curves. Her smell, covered in sweat.

It was by that time when her abdomen started to swell.

She had nurtured Mexico when she was a baby and was so happy to have her own children. Many emperors had tried to legitimize and consolidate their power by taking her, but it seemed only a god like Spain could make her engender. Who would have thought it was the same nation who sacrified little children?

She was happy to have children with her husband, but he did not feel the same way. It was not sure they were his children. He had translated old texts about the great dames Greece and Egypt back in his old Al-Andalus days. He knew they had conceived their children with no help from a man.

And it was a sign that the end was near for them.

And while Inca was happy in her lie, Spain robbed her gold. He visited his children to humor them with a bit of attention then got the goods they had produced with their little hands, working under a burning sun. Then, he gave those to Philip.

"I need more money, Antonio."

"I don't have anything else. I gave everything I have to you."

"That is not enough. There are revolts, the Protestants attack again, and we need to pay these soldiers."

"Well...The next cargo from America should come next week…"

It was kind of funny. The most powerful nation of the world didn't have the money to buy himself a simple pair of shoes.

* * *

**1568**

* * *

Spain was not thinking about the city around him, to which Philip had moved the capital. He was thinking about the little girl he had left in that island, which she had baptized with a name that would honor his king: Philippines. He had seen the daughter of one of the court's composers and at that moment he decided he would give the girl a replica of the beautiful white and red dress she was wearing. He hopes that way she would forgive him for leaving her alone with so many chores. If his little Boys and girls all had nice clothes to wear on Sundays at mass, why not she?

Once he made that decisión, he allowed other thoughs inside of his head.

"Alright, Pedro, what are you hiding from me?"

His assistant seemed to turn white, and it was not an effect of the light in the street. That confirmed Spain's suspicion.

"There is something Philip hasn't told me and you know it. What is it?"

"Well...Uh..." Pedro babbled.

"Do not fear. I am asking you as a friend."

"Well, our king just wanted to handle the problema on his own. You were in America and didn't want to add more trouble to your-"

"Go straight to the point, Pedro, please."

"It's...Holland."

"What's the matter? Is he alright?"

"Yes, yes. Uhm. Well...No. I mean...He's...got silly ideas, like...he didn't like at all that the Duke of Alba had to make him pay taxes to defray the costs of your army in his territory. He claims, ahem, that it is unbelievable you make him sustain a foreign army. And you shouldn't force your believes onto him."

"I am not a foreigner. We are family."

"Sure, sure, that is what he was told! But, eh, you know he never liked our king. He is not like his father. He is far more interested in our land than his and does not even speak Flemish. If his father, God rest his soul, was a foreigner here, he is a foreigner in his non-peninsular territories."

"Is that all? That is why Holland is so angry? He always had a short temper…"

"No, the problem is Governor Margaret. She...uhm...signed a document demanding the dissolution of the Inquisition in Flanders. Then the Calvinists destroyed some churches. The Duke of Alba arrived when the situation was controlled by the Governor, and was not taken very well. He executed noble men linked to the cause in the name of the King, and made Holland furious."

Pedro avoided looking at him to the eyes.

"He wants to be independent, sir..."

Spain flinched but not because of Pedro's words.

"Hey!"

A boy was running, and Spain chased him. The little one was young, seemed to know the streets, but Spain had the advantage of centuries fighting for his life. He pounced on him and both rolled in the ground.

"Got you!"

He snatched the jewels he had stolen from him while he was listening to Pedro.

"Sir!" his assistant approached.

The boy was barefoot and very dirty. He was no older than ten, Spain supposed. So thin, so miserable. He tried to escape like a ferret, using his teeth if necessary.

He would be executed for sure. Very little commoners were allowed to touch the nation. And robbing him would result in a sure death.

But Spain smirked.

"You need a lot of practice, but you made me sweat, kid. You earned it."

Nor Pedro nor the boy believed what he was saying. It was not until Spain handed the boy his pendant that they saw he was not joking. The boy stared at him quite intimidated, but didn't waste the chance, grabbed the jewel and ran off.

"Why did you do that, sir?" Pedro asked Spain as he stood up and shook his stained clothes.

"You can't possibly understand, _amigo_" was his enigmatic response.

* * *

**1571**

* * *

Veneciano flinched and whined.

"Ssssh, it's okay. I'm finished."

Italy's stomach was covered with bandages which were already red, but it would do. He couldn't complain, though. At least he was not skinned alive and had his skin filled with hay like his commander Bragadino. The Ottman's men were monstruous.

"You will feel better in the morning, you will see" Spain told Veneciano, and helped him lie down in bed.

"_Grazie, Spagna…" _Veneciano muttered.

"He will pay, I promise. That is...if you let me and Romano help you."

His bosses saw them like enemies. They had tried to keep Veneciano away from them, filled his head with lies. But who was there when they hurt the one he considered his little brother?

Veneciano probably saw things that way, because he let Spain tend his wounds and give him a brother's affection. Having found a position which didn't hurt, he nodded.

"Thank you…"

A part of Spain wanted to keep him away from danger, but the part who thought he needed to get stronger and tougher and there was no other way to achieve it than going to war won in the end. So, the following day, when the wounds in Italy's body magically disappeared, he trained the boy personally for the battle to come. He would give him the tools to defend himself. Nobody would hurt him again.

Veneciano had potential. After all, his voice had already cracked and he had become taller and there was no way he looked like a little girl now. He even looked older than his twin Romano—and that was something South Italy didn't forgive him.

But there they were, all of them, each one in charge of a galley. Spain couldn't help falling into the sin of Pride. His ships were the best equipped.

Mass was finished. Spain crossed himself and raised his eyes to the sky. The winds had changed its direction. That was was a good sign from God himself.

When La Real sent off a canon shot to the Sultan, the battle began.

It was surprising to Spain not having gone completely deaf with so many shots. Even if he had lost his hearing completely, he would have been completely satisfied. The Turks didn't start well. Those who approached his ships got so many blasts they sank or were left severily damaged. They just couldn't get closer. All their shots were too high or simply missed. Were they even trying?

The Sultan hit La Real, and Spain and his men jumped on board. There he found his enemy, the Ottoman, dressed for the battle but still wearing that mysterious mask.

Spain drew his sword and charged.

"Make peace with your god!"

Around him, Italy were not having a good time. Their admirals were falling under the Egyptians' attack. Both Veneciano and Romano fought with bravery, even having no leaders, but their ships were sinking. Veneciano had to jump into wáter when cannon shots destroyed the ship he was in. They would have been crushed if it wasn't for their feat inspiring the captives in the Egyptian ships to rebel against them. They got to escape from the galleys and news said Siroco was killed and the sight of his head on a pike made Egypt flee to the coast. Romano was so stubborn he made a lot of decisions his bosses would disapprove and got many men killed, but resulted in victory.

As for Spain, he had to face a great swordsman. The Ottoman cornered him and made several cuts that made him bleed like a pig. But Ali Pasha, his commander, had been shot in the head and then it was cut and displayed for everyone to see the battle was lost for Allah's believers. Turkey started to feel tired, and Spain got advantage of it. His blade went through his enemy's chest and he pushed him until he nailed him to the nearest wall with it. He was not dead. Unfortunatelly. But he would be really hurt for a while. And that was enough for him. The message had been delivered.

But he was left so tired he fell to the deck.

"_¡Señor!_ Are you alright?"

A bearded soldier helped him stand up.

"Unng...Thank you...I..."

"Do not fear, sir. The battle is over. Victory is ours."

"Your hand…"

"It's alright, sir, you have it so much worse…"

"What is your name, soldier?"

"Miguel de Cervantes y Saavedra, sir."

"Señor Cervantes, you are a good man."

Yes. He had nothing to fear. Victory was theirs. He could hear Italy calling him, both of them. While Veneciano was glad he was fine, he could hear Romano yell: "w, come on, you're not dead?!". God was good to him, after all, making his sacrifices worth.

* * *

**Spain has been accused for becoming rich at the cost of the colonies, but the sad/funny thing is that during King Philip II's reign the country went into bankrupt two times. All the gold and silver was used to pay the military campaigns all around the world. In the meantime, people were hungry. This was the birth of the picaresque novel, whose protagonists are low class citizens who have to survive in a corrupted world only with the help of their wit. There are some iconic novels of this genre: _El buscón_ by Francisco de Quevedo (who had a life that should have been turned into a movie), _Guzmán de Alfarache_ by Mateo Alemán and the most famous of them all, _Lazarillo de Tormes_, Anonymous, mandatory reading for Spanish students and those who are interested in Spain's history. **

**Here I present the start of the war of independence against Holland, which will be developed in further chapters, and Lepanto, one of Spain's most celebrated victories. The title is the way the author of Don Quixote, who fought in it, referred to it: 'The highest moment that the centuries ever witnessed'. Speaking of Spanish writers with an intense life, this is another man who had a life someone should make a movie about. **


	12. The bigger you are, the higher the fall

**1572**

* * *

Civil wars were a chance they couldn't miss. The empire of Inca was close at hand.

He had to take the chance.

She was holding Peru in her arms. The child did not know what was going on. She just knew something was wrong with her mother. She had never seen her so frail, so weak.

And she had never seen Spain looking at someone like that.

Spain approached, Inca squeezed Peru even more.

"No..." she muttered.

Spain paid no attention to her pleading eyes. She grabbed Peru's arm and pulled with such violence he made the child cry and Inca extended her arms to her desperate.

"N-No!"

One of Spain's men, obeying a tacit order, took the child away. He carried her in his arms and tried to distract her with the promise of sweets waiting for her in her cabin.

There was no way he could distract her from the shot that echoed.

Spain didn't go visit the child after that to ease her worry. Pizarro said Cuba needed him.

A few days later, he arrived to Sancti Spiritus, where Cuba was waiting for him. He was isolated from everyone else, sat on a rock near the beach, curled up against himself. Spain sat by his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. The boy cringed.

"Who did this?"

Cuba didn't show him his face.

"Who did this to you, Cuba?" Spain calmly insisted.

Still no answer. He was terrified, the poor child.

"Was it France?"

It took him a while, but Cuba finally muttered, not changing his posture:

"That man with the ugly eyebrows..."

Spain didn't seem to react to that revelation. He just rubbed the child's back. But deep inside, he was feeling a rage which made his chest burn.

So it seemed life at the court was not good enough for England, he didn't have enough luxuries, apparently. He had to sail the seas and steal what was not his, the gold, silver, tobacco, spices, everything those children had produced for Spain.

It bothered Spain, of course, but then England started bothering his colonies and...He could tolerate pillage, but he wouldn't let him lay a hand on them.

* * *

**1580**

* * *

"His Greatness, Império Português."

Portugal walked into the room with Philip by his side, escorting him. Spain couldn't be more satisfied. At last. Portugal was there. From that moment on, they would live together, as they should have always been. They looked so much alike they were often mistaken as brothers. But now they would be husbands. They would be together in the same house.

Portugal reached him and looked at him with a fine smile.

"Well...Here we are" he said in low voice, not to disrupt the protocol.

"I dreamed about this moment for so long..." Spain muttered.

"Not the Iberian peninsula is under your control. You should be smiling."

He had one more subordinate. Yes, he probably should be smiling. But for some reason he didn't feel like it.

Under his control...

Even Philip seemed surprised about his reaction.

"I thought you would be more cheerful about your marriage with Portugal" he told him in his room, he was sitting while Spain was standing next to the window. "It was an old dream of yours come true."

"I have very little reasons to smile about, Philip..." Spain said. "Holland, for instance."

Philip sighed, placing his hands on his lap.

"I know it must be difficult for you to fight your little brother, but..."

"It is something that must be done. If I gave in to his demands, everyone would do what they want, and...and I can't let that happen. I am sorry I have to be so tough on him, but the whole world is looking at me and I can't show weakness. Too many people depend on me. I worked hard for this! If the only way they respect me is to be cruel, then...!"

Spain shook his head and turned towards his king.

"Still, they are over-exaggerating. I know very well what they say about me. I have read those publications about what I have done, what I am doing. They picture me as some kind of monster."

"That is just propaganda from England and France. They are jealous, scared of your power. That is why they recur to nasty rumors."

"It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't affect you, Philip. Do you know how they picture you? As a deformed person, cruel, cold, greedy..."

"And many other things. Yes. I am aware of that. I have read it too. That is the price to pay, Antonio, for the power I hold in my hands."

"Yes. It is fine for me. It delights me that they are so scared of me that they try to ruin my reputation picturing me as the Devil."

Philip sighed, leaning back on the armchair.

"Still, it is such a heavy burden..."

Spain gazed at him with a little frown, seeing the slight sorrow in his voice. He walked to him, placing a hand on the back of the chair.

"You are the most powerful man who ever lived, Philip. God will give you strength."

"Sometimes not even God's help seems enough..."

"...Now that Portugal is in our side, Philip..."

Philip turned his eyes to him and drew a smile.

"Yes?"

"It is time we talk about England and that greedy whore that once was your sister-in-law."

At first, it was a matter of defending what was his. Then, religion became a factor. England was impious. His former king had insulted his princess Catherine divorcing her, even rejecting the true religion to create a church to legitimize his sinful second marriage. He had insulted Catherine, therefore, he had insulted Spain. England was helping Holland against him, giving him the means to continue that war. He spread with him and France those nasty rumors about him and his king.

The, his queen Elizabeth, who celebrated the death of her own sister with no heirs from Philip, ordered to execute Mary Stuart. With the death of her Catholic majesty, Spain lost his patience.

* * *

**1588**

* * *

Spain descended from the carriage looking as if he hadn't slept in the whole night. Portugal greeted him with a kiss on the cheeks and a smile.

"Did you have a good trip?"

Spain did not respond to that. His eyes turned to the fleet which awaited in the port.

"Look at this. This is the power of God."

Portugal's smile vanished and his face immediately mimicked Spain's seriousness.

"One hundred and fifty four ships. Nineteen thousand men. But England's naval forces should not be underestimated."

"We have something he doesn't have."

Portugal supposed the he was talking about God's favor. That was the only thing he talked about all day long. He was told by Holy Roman Empire that there was a time when Spain was a very happy man, who joked around, had lots of fun and even angered his husband Austria by escaping from palace once in a while to mingle with the peasants. But that seemed to be over after the conquest of America. Something happened there. Maybe it was the great number of acquisitions he got. The more powerful he became, the more bitter he turned. He wasn't even that nice to both Italies anymore. Romano had always been his favorite and some months before he surprised everyone by slapping him after he found a pamphlet designed by him in which he called him cruel, vulture, and said his king was a tyrant. But Spain didn't care that Romano didn't want to be around him anymore and his criticism to him kept going, even more bitter. He only cared about God. He guessed their king Philip had much to do with that, being so devotee (in the end, all nations ended up getting traits from their rulers). All that 'defender of the true faith' matter.

Portugal had a bad feeling about this, but Spain only had one thing in mind and he was the boss. The Great and Most Fortunate Army, the Armada, followed his orders and sailed to invade England.

But Portugal was soon proved right. Things did not start well.

The ships could not depart due to Admiral Álvaro de Bazán's hesitance. Portugal was convinced that the marquess, just like him, was not very confident about the resources they had. During this time, England took action faster than them and caused an important destruction in Cadiz. Angry, Spain declared he was glad de Bazán was dismissed and he almost said he was happy to that he died soon after that, the 9th of February in Lisbon. His sucessor, Medina Sidonia, did give the orders to sail to England. By that time, an epidemic outbreak had done severe damage to their men.

"We will be fine."

After days of journey, they reached La Coruña, but a storm forced them to delay plans. It would not be the first time the fleet had to stop because of the bad weather. And Portugal would see Spain stand on the deck, under the rain, looking at the dark sky like defying the elements.

All these delays made the provisions become scarce. With barely any food left, their men suffered illnesses. Would any of them survive to face the English? Portugal lost count of how many they had to throw off board.

Spain didn't lose hope. He gave his share to his men...as if he could sustain himself on prayer alone.

When the moment came, however, he seemed to get strength out of nowhere. Maybe from hate, when he saw in the distance the ship England traveled in along with Sir Francis Drake.

The weather was so bad it almost seemed like both parties would end up sinking. There were times when they were so close they could insult each other from their respective ships. 'FIRE!', Spain roared like a beast, and his voice was followed by the explosion of the cannons.

But their ships were not as well-equipped as England's and his crew were a bunch of inexperienced men, some of them boys. England was in his element. Like the director of an orchestra, he commanded his men and cannonballs flew over their heads before impacting in their ships.

"_Virgencita querida de mi vida..._" a sailor, barely seventeen by his looks, whimpered by Spain's side, grabbing a rosary around his neck, closing his eyes firmly, his body trembling.

"Don't give them the satisfaction to see you afraid, sailor!" Spain screamed at him. "Look at those sons of bitches to the eyes and show them you are not a coward!"

The mast of the ship Portugal traveled in was broken and almost fell over him. The nation looked around, trying to see the ship his husband Spain was in, but he couldn't see, he wasn't sure, with so many ships so close to each other.

It was then when the magazine of the one he was looking for was hit by England's fire and exploded.

Spain was found floating in the water, surrounded by the corpses of his men and pieces of the ship, unconscious. He was taken out of the water as if he was a fish.

"Is this the capture of the day? Not quite a good one."

When he opened his eyes, he was not among Christian men. He found himself on his knees, in front of a man who was calmly sat in a chair with his legs crossed, by a table in which he had a porcelain cup. It was funny, after having so much of England, that he didn't recognize him immediately, surely due to the contusions. England poured a spoonful of sugar into his tea, stirred it up ('clinc, clinc', did the spoon inside of the cup) and calmly savored it. He almost looked like he was having a picnic in a prairie in springtime. It wasn't until his eyes turned to Spain again when he finally gave the impression that he knew where he was.

"I don't know...We should throw this piece of garbage away. It is completely useless."

Sir Francis Drake chuckled by his side. Spain wasn't too aware of what has happening yet, but he had this unpleasant feeling inside of his chest.

* * *

Austria approached the group.

"What is going on?" he asked.

"He hasn't come out of there in days..." Luxembourg said to him.

"I heard him say..."

Holy Roman Empire doubted before finishing the sentence. '...he lost because God saw he went to battle with impure heart...', he finally muttered.

Austria frowned and knocked at the door.

"Spain?"

No answer from the inside. Spain's lips were too busy muttering, his hands on Reccared's crucifix and the rest of his body trembling.

Austria judged he would have to make decisions with Portugal, without counting on him.

He was going to tell him their king, Philip, had suffered this defeat like a severe blow and had thought he could cheer him up.

Hearing the news that England had built an Armada of his own, which he planned to use the ships in repair and conquer Portugal, and it all ended as embarrassingly as its Spanish counterpart maybe helped the monarch. For some years, he seemed to be in an acceptably good mood, and it was him the one who seemed to cheer Spain up, but they had to declare bankrupt once again, and nine years after the disaster of the Armada, Philip II received the biggest blow of his whole life. He didn't lose a big territory, or a decisive battle. His daughter Catherine Michelle did not survive a complicated childbirth and he, the man in whose domains the sun never set, started dying.

* * *

**1598**

* * *

Spain wouldn't let go of his hand.

He knew Austria, Portugal, Belgium and the others didn't want to be there. Philip, who had always been so clean to the point it was almost pathological, was unable to move due to the ulcers he had, and so helping him evacuate in a way that didn't hurt him was very difficult and he was left covered in his own filth. Spain was sure he had seen maggots in the ulcers. Such a disgusting sight was not pleasant at all, but he wouldn't move from his side. He wouldn't leave him. Not then.

Philip's children were also with him, bringing him his relics so he could pray to them and kiss them, also helped him with his administrative work. Even in such moments he still wanted to read and sign papers...

They fulfilled his wish to die in El Escorial, in a peaceful palace, surrounded by the remains of all of those saints, in the company of the people closest to him. When he gave instructions about the composition of his coffin, what he wanted to wear, they obeyed too.

"Ay, Antonio... I should not complain...But this is torment...Still...what torments me...is that from now on my son Philip will have to take charge of you and the empire...God, who has given me so many kingdoms, has not given me a son fit to govern them...It is you who will have to take care of him..."

Spain was going to say something, but instead he let out a strange noise.

"Are you crying, Antonio?"

"_Sniff_..."

"I don't think I have ever seen you cry...You were always so imposing to me...I...I just wanted to make you proud...Make you bigger, stronger...magnificent...I..."

"Don't say that, Philip. It's the fever talking. You must rest. Close your eyes."

"If I close my eyes now, I am sure I won't open them again...And I want to look at you for the last time..." Philip panted a bit. "D-Do you know what I feel when you touch me, Antonio? I feel...I feel warmth...Like the sun in summertime...I think of the warm breeze through the olive trees...I think of music...Miss Belgium told me once you used to play guitar, and you were good...Why don't you do it anymore?"

"I...didn't think it was appropriate...I didn't want to upset you..."

"I also...I also feel...laughter, dancing...It was always a pleasure to see you dance...The sea too...Even being so far away from the coast, you remind me of it...You really are a gift from the Creator...He did a good job with you..."

Spain used his free hand to wipe the tears off his face.

"Maybe He will allow us to meet again...Now I am going to meet Him...I will join the kings and queens of the past...I will tell them how brave you are...I will tell them...I..."

He fainted and didn't come back. The doctors said he had to rest, but Spain refused to let go of him.

Philip awoke hours later and he was still by his side, with his head on the pillow, not having rested or eaten in days. He raised his head when he saw Philip moving. The lights of dawn filled the room with an orange color. The king turned his head to his nation and exclaimed:

"It is time!"

His body suffered an spasm, then his hand went limp. His eyes were still on him but they were not looking at him anymore.

The servants, after a moment of respectful silence, walked out of the room to wake up everyone and tell them the news. Alone, Spain started sobbing.

_'You were always so imposing to me...'_

He had a fit which made him remove all of his jewelry, the rings and necklaces made with Indian gold, the collar and shirt too. He grabbed is own hair, pulled his hair.

His heart was impure. His heart was still impure. What was he doing? He thought he was going mad...Philip...Oh, God...Was this what He wanted? What_ he_ wanted?

* * *

**Philip II was the most powerful monarch Spain has ever had, during his reign the conquest of Peru and end of the Inca Empire culminated and Portugal, with all of its territories, was added to the empire due to the death of a great-uncle of his. Of course, someone as powerful as he was had many enemies and was rejected by many. This is the origin of the Spanish Black Legend, which exaggerates our history and makes Phillip seem like a monster. You only have to see what happens when the 12th of October comes and the consideration many historical figures and events from this period have to see it is still going. It was spread mostly by England and France, enemies of Spain, but also Holland, rebelled against them, and Italy, because they didn't like foreigners controlling them. **

**It was during Phillip's last years when the Armada took place for the reasons described: their corsairs attacked Spanish ships coming from America, tried to invade the colonies, England was sending help to Holland and, of course, there was the religious matter. That is why the empire tried to invade England but the result is...well, let us just say it is one of our historical embarrassments. That operation didn't start well and didn't end up well. It was a massacre. And, again, the same excuse the Catholics used to justify their loss is the same as the Arab's conquest: they didn't win because God thought they didn't deserve it. **

**Still, not many know about the Counter Armada, created by England in an attempt to get even, invading Portugal to turn the Portuguese against the Spanish crown and destroying the Spanish fleet, which also ended in disaster. **

**The defeat of the Armada hurt the king very bad. Since then, the empire started crumbling. As for the king, after the death of one of his daughters, Catherine Michelle, was so depressed (he had lost wives and children before but this one was specially hurtful to him) that it damaged his health. He secluded himself in the monastery of El Escorial, where he had a terribly painful and long death. What he says about his heir, Phillip III, is what he actually said, just like his final words. **

**If you have the chance to go to El Escorial, I highly recommend you to do. There is a chamber where you can see the coffins of many of the kings and queens of the country, including his, and see where he spent the last days of his life. A couple of days a year they let the visitors see the relics he bought and prayed to. It is an artistic gem.**


	13. Pax Hispanica

Philip was the emperor of half of the world. Of course he was going to be applauded for any tiny thing he would do and everyone around him would make things as easy to him as they could. But that stag was Spain's. With a well-aimed shot, he killed the animal and claimed it.

Phillip stopped his horse next to it and chuckled enthusiastically.

"That was incredible, my friend! At such long distance!"

"Eh, it was nothing" Spain smirked, calculating how much his prize had to weight and thinking of how well its head would look mounted on the wall.

"...I like you when you are like this" Phillip suddenly said, smiling at him.

"Like what?" the nation turned his head to his king.

"Relaxed. Enjoying life. You really needed this. So did I...That is why I've made a decision. From now on, the Duke of Lerma is going to take care of the tedious work of administrating an empire, so we have the chance to live our lives."

The smile faded a bit in Spain's face.

"...But...really?...I mean, are you completely sure about it?"

"You have been going through a hard time, after my father's depart..."

"Yes...I...Well..."

"I know. I think he put too much weight on his shoulders. And yours. His health ended up paying the price and you, you cannot die so easily, sickness is nothing to you, but your head...that's another thing. And if the head is not working properly, nothing else does. We want you to be healthy and happy. We need you. That's why I want to save you as much trouble as I can."

"I am so thankful you did this thinking of me, but..."

"You can trust the Duke. He has my full confidence. He will do a great job."

Spain didn't know what to say. His father, Phillip II, would have never left such important matters in hands that were not his own or Spain's. He simply did not trust the nobility. But Philip III was right: he had been too implied in political matters and he had not enjoyed life one single day in his existence. Spain himself had forgotten what it was like, to have a good time. Yes, his new king was right. He had to relax.

And relax he did.

* * *

**1598**

* * *

"Please, Spain, don't be rude. We are here to mend fences."

Spain nodded.

"Yes...Sorry..."

He really tried to put a friendly face, but the one who once was a friend had become someone he really didn't want to see. He had suffered his venomous bite too many times those last centuries. He had proven he couldn't trust him. He couldn't believe what he was about to do but he guessed the Duke was right. They had to make as many friends as they could.

"His Excellency the Duke of Lerma and His Greatness Imperio Español" they were introduced.

King Henry III stood up from his throne and opened his arms.

"Gentlemen...I hope you had a good journey here."

"Thank you, your Majesty" the Duke bowed to him and kissed his ring.

Spain was not subject to such protocols, being in a higher rank, so he just bowed his head respectfully. When he raised his head, he found a familiar man approaching him, his hair much longer than he remembered, with curls, and colorfully dressed. France smiled at him and bowed his head too.

"Welcome, my friend."

"Not so fast, France" Spain replied with a cold expression, not to upset the Duke or the king of France. "There are a lot of things I have not forgotten about."

"Yes, I haven't forgotten about our last encounter, either...But we are here to talk like friends, as we used to do, remember?"

"I remember. Before you started spitting poison and trying to steal what was rightfully mine."

France chuckled.

"Did I say something funny and I didn't notice?"

"Well, what you said, about things that are rightfully yours...It is debatable. But we have a lot of time to talk about it. Now you should just rest. We will hold a feast in your honor soon."

"Hm."

France sighed and tilted his head.

"Look. I am sorry I hurt you. You also hurt me, to be fair. But it was all a misunderstanding, you know, our bosses having different interests...I've known you since we were children. You are like a brother to me. It makes me so happy that we finally have the chance to forget our quarrels and go back to those times when we acted as such...What do you say? Do you forgive me?"

France offered him a gloved hand, which Spain hesitated to shake, until he turned his head to the Duke and thought...well...perhaps this was the beginning of a new era after all.

France placed both hands on him and shook them with a grin.

"_Mon cher Espagne_...This is the beginning of something great, I can feel it."

Funny Spain didn't feel that way...

* * *

**1606**

* * *

"...This is becoming exhausting. I do not want to fight you, really. I am sure we could build a very solid relationship if both of us looked beyond our noses and tried..."

England paused and was about to ask Spain if the hedges and rosebuds of his garden were distracting him when his guest spoke.

"For something like that to happen" he said, "you would have to stop stealing what is mine. My merchandise and my colonies. Would you?"

"Maybe. If you stop trying to convert me into Catholicism."

"Maybe."

England and him kept walking. That weather was so sad, Spain thought. England had suggested to take a walk around his vast garden while their superiors discussed and signed papers, arguing the weather was very good outside, but if that was his idea of good weather, Spain truly pitied him. No wonder he was so bitter.

"And if you stop helping Holland."

"I have no interest in helping Holland anymore. It was Elizabeth's idea, rest her soul. Now that she is gone and Jacob is in charge, he considers we should leave you two resolve your...conflict alone."

"...Tell me, how's little America?"

England turned his head to Spain, quite surprised at that sudden change of subject.

"I've heard you're taking care of him, am I right?"

"Well, yes...He's fine."

"Congratulations on your new little brother."

England drew a smile.

"More than a little brother, he has become a son to me so quickly...He's so innocent and playful...Children are such amazing creatures..."

He got quiet right after that, and Spain had the feeling that he thought he had opened his heart too much.

"Indeed. Do you allow me a piece of advice?"

"Sure. We are friends from now on, remember?"

"Take care of your little siblings but show them who is the boss."

England kept smiling after those words were uttered.

"Well, I am not that sure it worked for you..." he said. And it was his turn to change the subject abruptly. "Out of curiosity, how do you call that tree over there in Spanish?"

* * *

**1609**

* * *

Three days. That was all time the Moriscos had to pack everything they could take with them and leave the country. Spain supervised the departure of those thousands of people at Denia's port. Men and women of all ages, getting into those ships, going who knew where, with barely anything to keep, everything they had worked so hard for left behind to be claimed by Spain's authorities, sold unfairly...

Noticing the frown in his face, the Duke of Lerma smiled at Spain.

"It had to be done, my lord. They rebelled once against us, who says they won't help the Ottoman invade us?"

"...Sure..."

But what harm could families do to him?

"Our job is here. Come on. Holland awaits us."

Spain sighed and nodded. During their long journey to the Flemish territory, his thoughts would be devoted to his unruly brother, but his dreams were starred by those thousands of people who turned their eyes to him with sadness, with fear...

Everything, everyone, was forgotten when he got to see Holland face to face again.

"Since Elizabeth I is dead, there is no reason for us to keep fighting. That lady will bother you no more. You have my permission to trade in America and Europe for twelve years."

Holland stared at him in such a way Spain started to think he was wearing a mask.

"Do you really think all of those who go against you are being manipulated by someone else?" he finally said.

"I always treated you well, Holland."

"Is that what you think?"

"I really wish we could do this in a different way. This pact is my way to tell you I still care for you."

"I suppose I have to be thankful for such generosity..."

"I just think you need some time to consider..."

"There is nothing to consider. I made my choice. I will not be your subject any longer."

"You were never my subject, but my brother."

"True. You call everyone brother or sister. Brother, then. I won't be your brother any longer."

"Am I being such an ogre, Holland?"

Holland didn't reply immediately. His light green eyes stared at him coldly, but Spain didn't hold his stare. His were looking at the bandages in his neck.

"I will tell you just one thing" Holland finally said. "Many people have had enough of you already. If I were you, I wouldn't turn my back on anyone. Anyone at all."

* * *

**1618**

* * *

Things were not going well for Austria and Holy Roman Empire. There was trouble at home. Something about some servants of the king of Austria who had been defenestrated. The matter was that the people responsible, Protestants, designed their own king, and King Ferdinand II requested Spain's help. So there he went.

"Do you really want to get rid of it? It looks good on you. It makes you look manlier."

Veneciano, as part of the Habsburg family, came with them. He had offered himself to shave Spain. The truth was Spain wanted to spend some time with him, after having neglected him for so long...

"Yes, I am sure. Argentina says it tickles too much. And I want to give her and my children lots of kisses."

Veneciano smiled and giggled.

"America must be a pretty place..."

"Oh, you can't even imagine...Maybe I'll take you and Romano there one of these days..."

As Veneciano turned around to prepare everything necessary, Spain had time to think.

"...How is he?"

"Romano? Oh, he's alright."

"He still doesn't..."

"...He won't be angry at you forever, Spain."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Oh, good. Because...because I feel like I've lost him, because...between you and I...I have been acting like a fool...I have been treating my people like dirt. Portugal, Austria, both of you...Belgium and Luxembourg were loyal to me even though Holland declared war on me, and how did I pay them?"

"We all have bad times, come on."

"...Yes, I guess so...But it doesn't feel good, Veneciano, knowing I have done bad things to people who had no fault..."

Veneciano finally coated Spain's facial hair with foam and started using the razor with movements which seemed like a ballerina's, delicate and careful.

"There is also one reason why I want my face to be as smooth as possible" Spain admitted, and he smiled. "Women."

Veneciano grinned.

"Oh, _sí_, German ladies do have something, right?"

"You said it, little brother. But the Spanish are not that bad, either."

"And the Italian, of course."

"Of course. The _ragazzas_..."

"The _mujercitas_..."

"Ah!"

Spain closed his eyes, picturing a fine example of a Mediterranean lady, with her curves, her wide hips, her mischievous eyes.

But he could feel the blade not in his cheek but his throat.

He jumped from the chair and pushed Veneciano away from him.

"What-?!" he exclaimed, but Veneciano still had the razor in his hand and charged. Spain got to grab the chair and use it to keep Veneciano away from him.

"You?! Why you, Veneciano?! Why you?!"

"Because if it wasn't me, it will be someone else!" Veneciano did not want this, evidently. His moves were hesitant. He knew who he was facing. But the look on his face showed he was not joking. "You...I am tired of you using me! I am not your little brother! You don't care about me! You don't care about anyone but yourself!"

He tried to attack him again, pouncing on him. He got to cut Spain's hand.

He could have defended himself using all means necessary but it was Veneciano, he couldn't...He didn't want to do something he would regret, like when he slapped Romano for that stupid paper...

"You have been conspiring to make me disappear, now that I am growing up too much for your interests!"

"Who told you that?! It's not true!"

"How can I believe you?! You have been lying to everyone all the time!"

"HELP! HEEELP!"

Someone came into the tent indeed. The empire gazed with his eyes wide open at France, Holland and Romano. They saw Italy with the razor in his hand, stained with Spain's blood, but they didn't move to save him.

"Looks like you're in trouble, Spain. Do you want to do this the easy way, like Austria, or you'd prefer the hard way?" France said.

Spain panted and removed the foam from his face with his sleeve.

"What...What is the meaning of this?"

"It turns out my men are near Viena and Austria made a mess in his underpants."

"You...All of you...We had a deal...We..."

"Since when your word is worth something?" Romano glared at him.

One year after that, the first night of that monster of nature, Lope de Vega's _Fuenteovejuna_, when the character of Pascuala complained that men were like selfish house sparrows, who in winter they descend from the roofs to tweet at the villain until they get the crumbs from the table and once the fields are not frozen anymore they forget all benefit received...then Spain felt a shiver running down his spine and his hand touched the place where the cut had been while all those eyes came back to his memory.

Not only men. Nations were like sparrows too.

* * *

**After king Philip II's death his son, Philip III was crowned and his father judged well when he declared he was unfit for the role. He left the power in the hands of his favorites, while he was said to be all the contrary to his father: he loved partying and the good life. Among the things the Duke of Lerma decided for him was making peace with Spain's most powerful enemies, including a truce with Holland (which received the name of 'Pax Hispanica'), and decreeing the expulsion of the Moriscos, Muslim people who had remained in Spain after it was conquered by the Catholics and were supposedly converted. Since they were seeing with distrust and were used as an scapegoat, they were forced to leave the country—a terrible decision in such difficult times, because they were the ones who knew about industry and a big sector of population needed in agriculture.**

**Italy's attack responds to the conspiracy in Venice, when their people lynched the Spanish people they found as a protest for their control over their territory, which they wanted back to expand themselves, and the rumors about a conspiracy against Italy. Italy and Holland were on France's side during the Thirty Years War, in which France intervened and became a military power in Europe, ending with Spain's supremacy.**

**In spite of all troubles in this period, this century is considered the Golden Century, because of the great artistic production. Our famous Don Quixote, considered THE Spanish novel was first published in 1605, and it was also during this time when its author's biggest rival, Lope de Vega, started writing his plays and poems, also mythical. This is the time of Francisco de Quevedo, Luis de Góngora, Calderón de la Barca and so, so many.**


	14. Nothing but a dream

**1640**

* * *

He knew it. He knew leaving the matters of the State to those dukes was a mistake. Spain smoked in his room with his eyes closed, thinking he had no idea of how he was going to get out of that one.

He was tired. So, so tired. Philip III's plan to make peace with his enemies had proven to be a temporary fix. He was powerful and there were people around who did everything in his hand to make him fall. He couldn't relax. He had and those were the consequences: everybody took the chance to fight him. No, he had to fight. But he was so tired of fighting, all the time, every year of his long life...He was ruined. All money he had went on these wars. He couldn't ask his colonies to produce more because it was impossible, so the ships from America everyone expected enthusiastically were not even what they needed...

Philip III died too soon, and if his father thought he was unfit to rule the world, Spain was glad he was dead so he didn't have to witness what his grandson, Philip IV, was doing. He acted like a very devout man, but Spain knew very well he had as many secret children as the night sky has stars. If his duties worried him as much as the skirts of women! Olivares was managing well the war against Holland, they said to him, but Spain wasn't so sure about it...

And it was during this period of weakness when the peasants in Catalunya rebelled against his army and Portugal took the chance to betray him.

It all happened so quickly, so quietly it scared Spain. Or maybe he missed the signs—he was so busy trying to keep control in Catalunya and keeping France away from him!

They didn't want to tell him at first, not even Philip. But he already sensed there was something wrong. Where was Portugal? He was nowhere to be found. Did he have to return home for some reason?

It was then when his king, nervously touching his own mustache, had to admit, in quiet voice, Portugal had escaped from the palace at night without leaving a note. It was not necessary. Soon a messenger brought the news that there was a coup d'Etat at Lisbone and John IV, former Duke of Braganza, was crowned by his own nation. Along with the letter came a ring which once belonged to Portugal.

"Bring him back" Philip was about to reply, but Spain kept talking. "Bring him back using all means necessary. And if this matter leaves these walls, I want the responsible beheaded. Did you hear me?!"

It wouldn't have been so bad if rumors about certain meetings between Portugal and Holland hadn't reached his ears.

Fighting his husband was bad enough—but then the plague came. And with it, the plague of treason.

* * *

**1647**

* * *

"Guess you think I am losing my power, right, Romano? It is time you escape the sinking ship and join someone stronger, like...I don't know, France, maybe? Well, you are wrong. I'm not through yet."

His words lost their power when he had a bout of coughing. Romano kept gazing at him with a frown.

How did his boy change! He was not a child anymore. Putting maiden clothes on him now would have been ridiculous. He was a man. His voice hadn't changed completely, but was as tall as Spain was and there was nothing childish about him.

The way he looked at him was not something a child would have done.

"I am not leaving you because you are getting weaker. You're not in your best moment, that's for sure, but that's not the reason."

"Why, then? I always treated you well. I've always loved you."

"You have a funny way of showing it. You have been far more concerned about the money I could give to you than my own well-being" Romano's frown was remarked.

"We all have to make sacrifices, Romano..." Spain said, with the handkerchief stained with blood still in his hand, because he knew he would cough again in any moment. "If I didn't ask you do work for me, everyone will demand not to-"

"I wouldn't mind working for you if that left me something. But you keep asking me for more and the only thing else I could give you is my damned soul. If I had chosen this I would be alright with it, but I didn't. I was just a trophy given to you. And I am tired of it."

Spain approached his little brother, extending an arm to him, and Romano threatened him with the kitchen knife he had in his hand.

"Don't touch me. I am not getting your plague. Everytime you touch me you contaminate me..."

"Romano, all I request you is to talk..."

"There is nothing to talk about. I am leaving, Spain. Tomorrow morning I won't be here. My people have come to bring me back to where I should be. Not here, serving you, for nothing."

"For nothing? All this time I protected you, I gave you all luxury I could afford..." Spain grunted.

"You also buy your American friends, Mexico, Cuba, Peru, Panama, all sorts of things so you don't feel guilty for what you do to them..."

Spain swallowed.

"You want to leave, like Portugal did? Very well. Go! Leave! You and Holland are the same! Ingrates! Get out of my sight! Get out of this palace right this instant! I don't even want to see you!"

Romano, without dropping the knife or turning his back on Spain, walked to the door.

"You used to be a good man, Spain. You were actually bearable. But then power went to your head. Since you are God's chosen one, pray to him for forgiveness."

That was the last thing he said before leaving. There was a second when Spain wanted to scream 'don't go'. Gritting his teeth, he kicked a stool near him and touched his forehead with sorrow.

He needed fresh air. He needed to breathe.

"This is a lost cause."

But then he stopped and before entering the gallery, where his steps would have echoed and revealed his position, he stopped and hid in the shadows. Two guards were talking near the door while drinking something to keep the cold away.

"Our nation is getting weaker as years pass. Too much responsibility."

"Too much pride."

"We have to fight the infidels. We can't let the Protestants or the Moors get over Europe."

"Do you really think this is about religion anymore, Román? Are you that blind? This is about power and money, the Devil take it. It is all a matter of who controls the world. I am more convinced each day that Spain has forgotten his mission and all he wants now is to control the globe, have as many colonies as he can, destroy his enemies...See what he has been doing to Holland. He once called him brother. Now he will die to prevent him from being independent. And die he will, because Holland has won, no matter how hard he and his acolytes try to hide the truth."

"God have mercy on him."

Breathing deep, Spain left. He even left the palace, without his rich attire, looking like a commoner. No one who came across him would have guessed they were before their own nation.

He probably shouldn't be there, among all those people, but he was sure there was no risk of infecting them. He envied humans. There were things only a nation had to suffer, in a deeper way they could imagine. Still, many spectators moved away form him with disgust when they recognized the symptoms of the illness inside of him.

_'What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough; for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.'_

* * *

**1665**

* * *

The king had dysentery. It was too late to do something about it when it was discovered. On September 17th, the monarch breathed his last breath. And a problem all of the court had overlooked now was there for everyone to face. His death meant his son, Charles II, would become king when he reached the majority of age.

...But would he?

From the very moment Spain saw him, he knew there was something wrong with the boy. He was...strange. His face was not harmonious in any way. He talked to him, played with him and acted like he didn't understand. He talked to Austria about it, and he shook his head with a sigh.

"You see, that is why they don't inbreed horses in our stables" he commented.

Spain felt enormous pity for that child who wouldn't start walking until he was six, and talking, reading or writing until he was eleven. Everybody was making bets about how long he would live and Spain didn't even want to hear about it. He made the cooks serve him better food, so he grew strong, but his problem couldn't be solved with a good diet. He was retarded and weak. As much as his portraits showed him as a great and powerful monarch, as much as he stayed away from the eyes of the peasants, Charles was not called to be a great king.

"An...An..."

"Come on, you can do it."

"...Anto...nio..."

"Well done, Charles. Great job." Spain smiled at him and embraced him.

Yes, they were already deciding what to do when he died, being still so young, and that irritated Spain.

* * *

Again they used marriage in their favor. This time, an union between Charles and France's princess would help their relationship improve.

But Spain was watching France during the ceremony. How he whispered into that nobleman's ear. How he looked at Charles. How he pointed at Marie Louise's contained disgust. How he snickered. He wanted to stop the ceremony, get Charles out of there and cut France's tongue. But they had to do this. Charles had to leave a son in this world before...

Oh, but Marie Louise died too soon—and Spain couldn't say he was sorry about it, because she had said nasty things about Charles' impotency in bed—and Holy Roman Empire took care of the situation, choosing Maria Anna of Neuburg for him. But there were still no children.

Charles came to Spain to cry in his arms. A king shouldn't cry. He shouldn't appear as weak. But Spain was a friend, maybe the only one he had in that world full of vultures flying in circles over his head.

"I'm so sorry I can't...I can't..."

"Hey, it's alright, _Carlos_...It's alright...Look at me, I can't have children, myself, either."

The poor boy...

* * *

**1700**

* * *

"Antonio? Antonio?" Charles exclaimed, looking around him desperately, with his eyes wide open.

"I'm here. I'm here" Spain comforted him, grabbing his hand.

"The whole world is looking at me and I'm scared..."

"Don't be scared. The Lord will greet you soon, and you will see, how beautiful the other life is..."

"I...I wrote...I wrote..."

"Ssssh, don't force yourself."

"I wrote my last will...I want to know...you will be well taken care of...I...I chose...I chose...Philip of Anjou..."

Even near his death, Charles apparently noticed the expression in Spain's face.

"He is my sister's grandson...He...I know you don't like France...But he will be good, I promise..."

"You don't know about that, you have never left Burgos..." Spain couldn't help saying.

"Do you trust me, Antonio?"

Spain could barely look into those sick eyes.

"...Sure..."

"So please..."

"Of course..."

"Thank you...I'm sorry I...I didn't..."

"It's not your fault, my boy..."

Charles was thirty-eight years old when he died, surpassing by far what was expected from him. His autopsy, which Spain read, stated: 'his body did not contain a single drop of blood; his heart was the size of a peppercorn; his lungs corroded; his intestines rotten and gangrenous; he had a single testicle, black as coal, and his head was full of water.' He left this world with no heirs, and caused a big problem. Because Spain was reluctant to let a French monarch rule his house, but Austria would defend the Habsburg's right to death.

He departed the palace to fight France for his dynasty's rights. He had England, Holland and Holy Roman Empire on his side, because they would not let France be one with the biggest empire of the time.

That time, Spain witnessed how the European powers fought for his control, like a prize to win.

All he could do was wait and see who was the winner.

Everything seemed to be going in Austria's favor until emperor Joseph I of Holy Roman Empire died. Then, his candidate, Charles, inherited his titles, and England realized he was helping join two big empires who most possibly would go against him at some point. He left Austria alone and he had no choice but to make peace. He was tired, everyone else was.

So Spain had to break his marriage with Austria.

* * *

**1771**

* * *

The ring had left a funny mark on Austria's finger. He watched it with a small smile, then shook his head.

"...I'm sorry, Austria."

Austria turned his head to Spain.

"...It is quite alright. Just...be sure you wear an armor everywhere you go, specially in bed. France has proven to be quite good at backstabbing."

He looked around, at his room. Everything his had been already packed. He was going back to his country, and Spain didn't know if he would see him again. Maybe if a prince or princess had to be married...

"Well...It is time to say goodbye."

"I never thought this day would come."

"You don't have to act like you will miss me. We didn't get along that well."

"We have been married for centuries. You were a good husband. I will sincerely miss you."

Austria looked away.

"...Yes, it will take me some time to get used not to see you around, acting like a fool..."

"You got to reform me."

"Oh, but you have it inside of you. You are wild, and no king or consort will ever change that."

Austria scratched his jaw acting like he did not care about their last conversation.

"Keep it that way. Nobody really liked you when you acted like the Conqueror of the world. Not even me. It doesn't suit you."

Spain smiled. He approached Austria, wrapped his arms around him and, after a second of hesitation, left a long kiss on his cheek and the tip of his nose grazed his skin softly when he pulled away.

"Goodbye, Austria..."

Austria sighed silently and just left the room.

Spain was left alone looking around it, thinking it seemed so unbearably empty...

But, as if they had heard his thoughts, they came to fill the emptiness Austria had left.

"_Bonjour_."

Was it to late to run away with Austria? Spain remained motionless right where he was, just staring at France with no apparent emotion.

"We had a good journey, thank you for your concern" France ironically said, removing his cape. "I suppose you are still getting used to the idea that we are going to live together for some time. I understand. But don't worry, we will work this out. I promise I will do everything possible to change my ways and convince my kings to leave you alone from now on. You are part of the family, after all. Talking about family, here is someone I'd like you to know."

A man with a long, white curled wig stepped forward with a smile.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Spain. I am Philip. You don't know me, but I know you raised my grandmother when she lived here. She told me lots of stories about you. I am sure we are going to get along very well."

He didn't doubt that. The fifth Philip he had in his family seemed like a nice fellow.

But France...

* * *

**Philip IV's reign is mostly known for the Golden Century in arts, because, like his father, he had no initiative in monarchical matters and left all the power in the hands of his favorites, this time the Duke of Olivares. During this time Spain went back to war, having to deal with a revolt in Catalunya, a war of independence against Portugal and Naples, and the loss of Holland, which gained its independence in 1648. Well, he was also known for one thing, which was his womanizer attitude: he was said to have between 30 and 60 children, most of them in high charges.**

**His son Charles II is known as The Bewitched, because, due to the frequent incest in his family, he was born with severe malformations. Since the very moment he was born people started deciding who would inherit the crown. His mother was regent most of the time, since his father died when he was small. He was married twice but never could conceive a child. Feeling his death was near, two candidates appeared: Philip of Anjou (France) and Charles VI (Holy Roman Empire). In his last will he expressed his desire that Philip became the king, but the European forces and the own Spanish nobility wouldn't let France benefit from the empire, thus a war started. It wasn't until Charles VI inherited the empire that his allies, fearing a greater threat to their interests, left him and peace was reached, leaving Philip as the heir of the throne. And so the Habsburg dynasty ended in Spain and the Bourbon, the current one, came. **

**If you go to Madrid, you might hear about the Madrid of the Austrias, which is the term used to design the architecture these monarchs encouraged.**

**The illness Spain suffers in this chapter is a reference to the plague of Seville in 1647, which killed approximately 45% of its population. **

**The play he attends is _Life is a dream_ by Calderón de la Barca, one of the most famous plays of this period and Spanish history in general. By the way, the disenchantment about these times is well felt in Arturo Pérez-Reverte's book saga _The Aventures of Captain Alatriste_, which you might know from a movie adaptation starred by Viggo Mortensen in 2006, in which the war against Holland and the intrigues in palace are key.**


	15. Family matters

**1763**

* * *

It was not his war. It was not even his war, Spain wept.

He hated Charles III, because he was the one who convinced him that France was part of the family now and he had to go fight by his side in his latest quarrel against England for the control of the trade of slaves and commerce in the Antilles. France would be there if he found himself in the same situation, it was the fair thing to do, he said to him. By helping him, he would get even for what England did in Gibraltar and Honduras, he said.

He hated France, who would never be his family, and dragged him into that fight.

But, mostly, he hated England, because he had stolen his boy Cuba.

Charles, generals, all kinds of people knocked at his door demanding him to go back to the battlefield, and Spain sent them all to hell. He felt a hole in his chest. Such a terrible emptiness and fear. His little Cuba was at those moments at the mercy of that heathen. Who knew what he would do to him. What ideas he would get into his head. He might make him reject Catholicism, change his customs until Spain wouldn't recognize him anymore...Spain was so anxious all he did was smoke and pray for Cuba to be alright. That name was on his mind all the time. Cuba, Cuba, Cuba, Cuba...

At the eighth day of his self-confinement, when Spain thought he had made it very clear he didn't want to see anyone, they knocked at the door again.

"_Espagne_. It's me. May I come in, please?"

Out of all people...

"Please, I want to talk to you. It is important."

"Go away, France. I don't wish to see you right now."

"I know. But I promise you this is important—else, I wouldn't have disturbed you. Come on. It is good news."

The door finally opened, and the first thing France noticed was that Spain hadn't eaten, slept or shaved in days. The other thing was that his green eyes glared at them like a beast's.

"What good news? Did you get to win your fight?"

"Unfortunately, no" It seemed evident. France was covered in bandages, including an eye patch. "These are good news for you. I have been corresponding with England."

"How sweet. Tell your lover I hope he chockes on that pastry he has while drinking tea at five" Spain was about to close the door when France stopped it and turned his head to some point behind him.

"_Papá_..."

Spain froze. From behind France, a figure appeared. A child. But not any child. It was Cuba. His Cuba was there.

Spain muttered his name, then ran to hug him.

"C-Cuba! Am I dreaming?! Are you really here?! Oh, thank God, you...Let me see you! You're not hurt, are you?"

"I'm alright, _papá_" Cuba smiled when Spain's cuddling and kissing allowed him. And Good he looked indeed, because he had no scars in his body and they had washed and given him the best clothes they could have found, too.

Spain didn't notice France looking away with the most uncomfortable feeling in his throat. His whole world was Cuba at that moment. Until a while later, he didn't look at him, and when he did his scowl turned into a smile.

"F-France! What did you…?"

"It wasn't me. It was your king. He made a deal with England. Florida in exchange for Cuba."

"Let him have it! Goodness, those were really good news, I..."

"And that's not all. I have been talking to mine and I have convinced him that since I dragged you into this, I should compensate you for the trouble. Louisiana is all yours now."

"France...Thank you, but...but…"

"Why? Well...We are family now…"

Without giving Spain the chance to say anything, he walked away. He did notice something in the way he walked, but at that moment he really couldn't care about France, because Cuba was back to him, and he didn't want to let him go.

A ship took him back to his isle soon, too soon for Spain's taste, but he guessed he had to return home. He had duties to fulfill.

"What if England comes back?" Cuba asked him, trembling a bit at the sole memory of that man.

"Don't worry. He won't bother you ever again" was Spain's promise.

Only after his little one was back to America Spain thought of France. He asked his king about the course of that war in his absence. It was then when Spain found out why he did what he did.

"I didn't know you lost your little brother Canada…"

France was at the balcony. There they could have a peaceful talk, both of them. Spain approached and leant on the balustrade, leaning on it.

France didn't look at him.

"...It was the price to pay…" he muttered.

"...I'm sorry it was so high…"

"...He is more than a little brother to me, you know? He is...my son. He got his gorgeous hair from me. He's so frail, so innocent, so beautiful...All I do I ask myself if England will make him his slave, make him pay for everything I have done to him…Poison him with that horrible food of his...He...He doesn't even know any English, all the time, every single day I ask myself…"

His voice cracked and he avoided looking at Spain. His hair made it impossible to see his face, but Spain kept gazing at him with pity. He turned his head to Spain some time after, swallowing hard and making an effort to draw a smile. His eyes were so wet.

"Sorry…"

"Don't be. Now I find what you did for me even more wonderful."

"I know you love that child, and I wanted you to see...well...We used to be good friends long time ago. We abused that trust. But…"

"...Yeah...Those were good times...Back when we were just provinces, not...big boys, like Rome used to say…I kind of...miss old Rome..."

"Yes, me too…How he took pleasure in seeing us fight."

"But he stopped us when we hurt each other."

"It was all a game to him. A light version of the gladiators he enjoyed so much, surely."

"It was fun."

"It was really fun…"

"...I'm sorry I haven't trusted you, France. You are not that bad."

"And I am sorry about...some of the things that I did."

It was like going back to the old times, when they were under Rome's control. When they considered each other friends. Brothers.

* * *

**1783**

* * *

England tried to get up but he couldn't. He was so hurt, defeated—defeated by his own colony. It was pathetic.

And Spain enjoyed watching it so, so much.

"Surrender now, England. You're through" America said, firm, strong, in contrast to England.

He raised his eyes but not to America, but the ones behind him. France. Holland. Spain.

"...Curse you…" he grunted with hoarse voice.

That made Spain's day.

Revenge was so, so sweet.

Oh, revolution seemed such a lovely word. It took over America's body like a fever, and hurt England like no weapon could have ever done. Spain didn't know that flu was not a benign illness yet, until, six years later, something happened to France, something horrible, atrocious, monstrous, that would turn against him. Against all of Europe. Like a plague.

* * *

**1807**

* * *

There was a moment when Spain really thought he and Portugal could be one once again. When France, surely driven by madness, tried to invade Catalunya, he came to his rescue. He said he was doing it because France was not in his sound mind at that moment and he was scared that whatever he did in Spain's territory spread to his own, but Spain had faith in their old friendship. He refused to believe he had forgotten about the good times. This time he was determined to mend his past mistakes, the mistakes which made Portugal leave. He would be a better husband, a better friend.

But that minister, Manuel Godoy, had to ruin everything.

Spain could have managed on his own, but it was his decision to end the war and recognize France's status as a republic. Overlooking that King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette had been guillotined, their heads exhibited to the bloody crowd. His king's family.

But, of course, that was not entirely his fault. It was their masters' task to censor him. But did they do it? Oh, no. They named him Prince of Peace. Life is pretty when you are the lover of the queen...Spain would often hear prince Ferdinand curse that man and couldn't reproach it to him. Not after Godoy, following the instructions of that odious man who became France's superior, Napoleón Bonaparte, forced him to declare war on Portugal because they had reached an agreement to fight England together, Portugal's new friend. It was true that Spain hated England and would do everything to hurt him, but he didn't want to go to war against Portugal.

Things didn't work the way they had planned, but at least Portugal accepted closing his ports to England.

But that wasn't enough. Portugal had to be punished for even thinking of being friends with that English dog. So France, with Godoy and the royal family's consent, sent his tropos.

And they started creating chaos wherever they went.

"I have heard you escaped from palace last night, Antonio, to have fun" Charles IV ended the silence, and surprised Spain sincerely.

"I didn't leave the palace. Ask Mr. Francisco, he was painting me a portrait."

"You don't need to lie to me or involve Mr. Goya in all this, Antonio" Charles smirked. "Just admit you dressed like a peasant and went to dance and drink at a tavern."

"Well…" Spain mumbled.

His gaze met Ferdinand, who was snickering, covering his mouth, and that brought a smile to his face.

"Mingling with the villains, as if you were one of them…" Maria Luisa complained, caressing her fork with the tip of her finger.

If it wasn't for the rules of courtesy, he would have said a couple of things to that old hag, something about mingling with ministers in bed.

"Well, there's nothing bad about it, is it? I mean, after all, I am the nation...Those people are as part of me as the crown..." he did declare.

"But Spain, you shouldn't go outside without your bodyguards. You shouldn't go out drinking and gambling and dancing like a commoner. You are too important" Charles said.

"Sometimes it is so tiring being important…"

"I know, but it is a sacrifice you should be happy to make."

A servant approached. Spain hoped it was the food, but no. All he carried with him was an envelope. He went straight to the King and muttered some things into his ear.

Whatever it was, it was something really important, so shocking that the king stood up and dashed away.

"Milord?"

"Your Highness, what is the matter?"

Spain followed him through the palace, to Ferdinand's room. There, he found the king opening every drawer, even moving the mattress, cutting the pillow open to see its insides.

"What are you doing?"

"My own son...My own child!" he exclaimed, showing Spain a bunch of papers, practically throwing them to his face.

Spain grabbed one of them and read them. He couldn't believe what they contained.

"Guards! Guards!" Charles exclaimed.

Ferdinand came into the room and gazed at his father with eyes wide open. He was about to ask what was happening, when the guards appeared at the king's orders.

"Apprehend the prince!"

"What?!" Spain exclaimed.

Ferdinand's face lost its color when he saw those men grab him. His eyes, full of bewilderment, turned to Spain.

"Antonio!" he exclaimed, as he was dragged away.

"What do you think you are doing, Charles?!" Spain faced the monarch, and he sighed pathetically.

"Read those papers! It is all in there! My own son has been plotting to overthrown me and poison his own mother!"

Spain didn't want to believe it. He refused to believe Ferdinand would do something like that. But that seemed like his handwriting. And days later Ferdinand, in jail, confessed. He gave the names of those who had participated. He admitted he had been corresponding with Bonaparte and his nation. Spain asked permission to visit him but he was denied that request. Each day passing he feared more for his prince.

"What will you do to him, my Lord?"

The room was silent, the fire crackled inside of the fireplace. Near it, Charles stood with his head low.

"...I will do what I have to do."

"Will you behead your own son?"

Charles didn't reply. Spain approached him and forced him to look at him, staring at him with fierce eyes.

"Because if you do our relationship is over."

"Antonio..."

"No. This is too weird for me. How don't we know Godoy doesn't have anything to do with this?"

"Because Godoy can be trusted, and we don't know-!"

"If Bonaparte and France are involved, I can only picture the worst. Ferdinand..."

"He confessed, Antonio, don't forget it."

"Maybe...If he did this...I am sure it is because he has been mislead. You listen to Godoy too much, and too little to him. He wants things to go well, and since you having been listening to him maybe he thought all he could do was…"

Charles sighed loudly through his nose.

"...I promise I will think of it."

"...Thank you, Charles."

The king kept his promise. Days later, Ferdinand was officially forgiven by the monarchs and fred. The first thing he did was to embrace Spain.

"I had nothing to do with it. It was your father. It is him you must be thankful to."

Spain was glad Ferdinand was alright and that Godoy, who surely benefited from the prince's tribulation, was publicly accused for his machination.

Spain was ready to forget the whole matter but in the matter of months it became clear he was not going to rest.

And it was all France's fault. It became more evident as time passed that this was an invasion. The French soldiers did as they pleased in every city they passed. The citizens were scared. They were already suffering an economic depression, they didn't need those foreigners to come to their country and make a scene! Spain felt restless...And then the whole royal family was summoned in Aranjuez.

"Why Aranjuez? ...Are you going somewhere?" Spain faced the king.

Charles didn't reply, and that was enough answer for Spain.

He stayed in Madrid, but knew everything going on. He was informed that the palace was assaulted. Godoy himself had to hide in his own home wrapped up in a carpet to hide himself from the mob who surely wanted to kill him. Charles IV declared he abdicated in favor of Ferdinand.

Spain should have been glad Ferdinand got to be king. He was going to be a good one, he had no doubt about it. But...

Yes, France's coming to Madrid didn't make things any better.

"What does Bonaparte have to speak with Charles and Ferdinand in Bayonne?"

France kept smiling, not looking at him, with a glass of wine in his hand. It was a bit early for Spain's taste to be drinking but the guy really loved wine, and he was no one to complain about his quirks.

"Let us just say the emperor wants to be a mediator in their conflict."

"Your emperor sounds like a very selfless man…"

"Indeed…"

Spain couldn't help gazing at the mark in France's neck. The scar of a head which was still stitched to the rest of the body, after the mob accused even their nation for treason and gave him a taste of the guillotine.

"...He rescued me. He put order in the chaos. He is going to make things better. You shall see. Even for you, things are going to get better."

Spain's eyes met France's and there was something he didn't like about the way he looked at him, about those words. Perhaps he was going crazy, but he was restless. So, so uneasy...

He actually had to walk around the room to calm himself down. He opened the window and took a look outside. At the blue morning sky, the birds flying...

But...wait a second...

"I have to bring you a bottle of one of the wines made in my house" France commented, staring at his cup. "I am not saying your wine is not good but…"

There was something wrong outside...There was a crowd at the fences of the palace. They were looking at a carriage at the courtyard. He recognized it, it was the royal family's carriage. And the people who were getting in...

Weren't those the infantes?

"Where are they going?"

"Hm?" France turned his head to him.

"The family. Where are they taking them?"

"Oh, well...You see your king gave me permission to…"

"What is your man doing?"

"Murat? He is just making sure they have a good journey."

"Where to?!"

Spain turned to France.

"France! What is happening?!"

"Didn't they tell you? Joseph Bonaparte is now King of your house."

"...No..."

"Yes. Your kings renounced to the crown in Napoleon's favor and he gave it to his brother."

"It can't be..."

"Don't you worry. Joseph has his brother's support and everything will be..."

Outside, the crowd started to scream and shake the fence. Spain looked out once more, and saw all those men and women insulting the French soldiers, demanding them to release the infants.

They were starting to make a fuss, so Murat gave orders to shoot at them. Spain gasped, placing a hand on his chest while drawing back.

"What is he doing?!" he exclaimed.

"It seems your people need to calm down" France was calm indeed while he approached the balcony.

Spain turned to him, his eyes filled with anger.

"I want that man dead!"

"Come on, Spain…"

"He is shooting at my people!"

"Maybe things will be better if you go down there and tell them to calm down."

"You are taking the royal family away!"

"Don't shout at me" France's expression changed completely, turning ice cold. "Go down there and tell them it is alright."

"It is not alright! You...I should have known...This is indeed an invasion! You are like plague...You get inside the system and kill your hosts..."

"I won't gut you right now for your insolence because we have been friends for a long time...But my patience is going short. Go down there and tell your people to obey my soldiers!"

"We won't take orders from a frog!" Spain roared.

And he punched France in the nose, staining his white shirt with his own blood. After that, Spain dashed out of palace.

France stumbled after him.

"Monsieur?" some of his men approached.

"EXECUTE THEM!" he ordered them, his hand on his broken nose. "I WANT EVERY MAN, WOMAN AND CHILD WHO CARRIES A WEAPON DEAD!"

When Spain reached the street, he felt like he had just entered Hell. Men and women were fighting against the French soldiers. It wasn't a fair fight. The French had weapons. Those peasants only had their knives, scissors, tools, whatever was in their hands. Soon more men with even bigger weapons would show up.

But they would be ready.

"_¡MI GENTE!_" Spain drew everyone's attention, his face red, his eyes looking greener than ever, his teeth gritted. "FRANCE HAS DECLARED WAR ON US! GRAB YOUR GUNS, YOUR CANNONS! EVERYTHING YOU HAVE! WE HAVE BEEN HUMILLIATED LONG ENOUGH! _¡MUERTE A LOS FRANCESES!_"

The crowd roared, inflamed by Spain's determination. That morning, the blue sky was dyed with blood red.

* * *

**Well, we are reaching one hell of a century for Spain. But before it, a few things happened, like the country joining the Seven Years War, in which France, along with Russia and Sweden, fought England and Prussia over commercial hegemony in North America. In the end, England took over Havana and this made Spain quit. However, we could get it back in exchange of Florida, and France gave us Louisiana to compensate. It is now when Canada became a British colony. Years later France and Spain got their revenge supporting the USA in their war of independence.**

**Then Spain fought for its own. After the French revolution France became an enemy to the European countries, and after a battle Spain and Franve became allies again. Being allies, they joined forces against their common enemy, England, and against their supporter Portugal. With the excuse of attacking Portugal, Napoleon sent troops to Spain which were not welcome by the population. Then prince Ferdinand VI started plotting to get the throne. After being benefited from the accusations of plotting against his parents, he became the favorite of the people .When rumors suggested the problem with the French was so bad the family was about to exile, the crowd assaulted the palace and almost lynched prime minister Godoy (favorite because he was the queen's lover). King Charles IV abdicated in favor of Ferdinand but Napoleon summoned them at Bayonne, France, to convince Ferdinand to give the crown back to his father. He gave it to Napoleon and he passed it to his brother Joseph. The royal family never came back to Spain and the 2nd day of May, when the infantes were being apparently taken away by the French, Madrid's people went mad and revolted against the French. They responded charging against them and executing every single person who was found carrying a sharp object. Malasaña, a quarter in Madrid, owes its name to martyr Manuela Malasaña, who carried scissors because she was a tailor.**

**This day is Madrid's festivity, and there is a monument near the Prado museum dedicated to the people who lost their lives that day. Also, two of the most famous pictures in that museum by Francisco de Goya reference the French repression: The Second of May Madrid 1808 and The Third of May 1808.**


	16. Long live la Pepa!

**1812**

* * *

Life in Spain was not life for young soldier Émile Delacour. His captain said everything would be so easy. They were fighting peasants. Perhaps some rebellious military men, but their enemy was inexperienced, untrained, uncoordinated. It should have been so easy to put out the fire of revolution which spread like wildfire from Madrid to the rest of the country.

But it turned out the Spaniards were not human, but demons.

They hated them so, so much that even the prostitutes were cold to them. It was impossible to find a spy for them, the sole proposition was taken as an insult and not few candidates spat in their face.

"War is not easy, just like life is not easy. Get over it, soldier" Captain Martin said to him, riding his horse by his side. After that, he handed Émile a sheet of paper. "Take a look at this."

Émile didn't know any Spanish, but recognized the man who was caricatured, praying on his knees inside of a bottle of wine, with the liquid reaching his neck.

"What does it say?" he asked his superior.

"'Each of us has their luck, till death yours is being a drunk'."

"Oh, dear..."

"They call him Pepe Botella. Bottle Pepe. He came here to give these imbeciles a better life and how do they pay him? Wasting no chance to call him a drunk."

"Maybe they just need time..."

"Bah! I would kill the entire population. It would do this land a favor, like pulling the weed. Even the children are vermin. I should have returned home two months ago, but instead I have to be in this filthy hole and-"

Words and something else died when shadows fell on them.

* * *

"Are you sure we will find him?"

"I am."

"How?"

"I was married to him once."

Portugal and England brought no men with them. It was better to handle this issue personally—also, there was a high chance that the men they brought ended up dead or wounded, and they didn't want to lose soldiers for nothing. They made their horses walk slowly, so they could listen to each sound and watch every shadow, every movement...Even the shake of a leaf made them stop.

"He sure loves being in the wilderness" England commented with a frown. "First in the New World, then here...He would be happy running with the boars, naked and filled with dirt, that's for sure..."

"We should have encountered him by now..."

"All we have found in our way were French soldiers. I am starting to wonder if it's not too late. If he's not being taken as a prisoner or dead."

"Absolutely."

"How do you know?"

"I've told you: because I was once married to him. I know him."

"I know him too. I've been fighting him for centuries. Admit it, Portugal: this time France has probably killed him. All he has on his side are villains. The army is on France's side. He just can't win. We arrived too late."

"Trust me, I am sure we will find him in any moment."

Portugal had no idea of how true his words were until he felt a great blow and when he realized he was knocked out from his horse and all he could see were lots of hands grabbing him, dragging him through the ground. He heard England scream some curses, probably suffering the same situation, but he couldn't see him, with all those faces in the way.

And then, a familiar one.

"Well, well, I can't see I'm surprised. When a whale starts to bleed, sharks approach..."

It was him. Spain. He had his hands on his hips and looked at him with a smirk. He was not dressed in the courtier fashion, but had fused with the common people, wearing a bandana on his head and growing his sideburns. He had a cigarette in his smiling lips.

Portugal chuckled and turned his head to England.

"What did I tell you?"

A man with a beard stopped by Spain's side and gazed at the two nations with a smirk.

"So these are nations too?"

"Yep. _Inglaterra y Portugal_."

"They don't look like tough guys. Not even special."

"Don't underestimate them. If they are here, that is bad news for us."

"We came here to help" Portugal said.

"Excuse me, I didn't hear anybody here give you permission to talk" the man said to him.

"No, no, _Juanito_, let him speak. I haven't spoken to my dear husband in so long, I was starting to miss his sweet voice" Spain smiled, throwing what little remained of his cigarette away.

"We came here to help you fight France" repeated Portugal, standing up, and helping England do so.

"Oh, you are so generous..."

"You and us want the same thing" England intervened, shaking the dust off his clothes. "To make France bite the dust. You can't do it alone."

"We can manage perfectly on our own"

"You can't. Sure, you are resisting, but for how long?"

"We have intercepted the newspapers. We know France is having a hard time with Russia. He forgot to pack good coats apparently and now his balls are frozen. He is weak, and Joseph Bonaparte doesn't know that. He doesn't know because by the time any Frenchman here hears any news, we know it in advance, and if we don't want them to know something, they will never find out."

"It is true Russia got to stop France and that man, Bonaparte" Portugal said, "that is why it is time to attack, now that he is vulnerable."

"Perhaps you don't remember that just a few years ago I declared war on the two of you."

"Did you want to fight us?"

"Not really. But I refuse to believe you forgot about it."

"We can overlook it" England said. "The situation is really exceptional. That man, Bonaparte, has made himself an emperor and will stop at nothing till all of Europe is in his hands. And the three of us know how corrupted France's soul is. He was your family, Spain, and betrayed you. Don't be ashamed. He did the same to me. We also made a deal long time ago, to fight against you before you became too powerful. And he did the same to me. France should not be in control of Europe. We cannot consent this any longer. He will come to our houses and take over our governments, overthrown and kill our monarchs. This is our chance to stop him."

That man, called Juan, crossed his arms and glanced at his nation, who did the same gestured and closed his eyes, deep in thought.

"...You came alone" he finally said.

"Our men are already in the peninsula, waiting for instructions" England replied.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You can trust us...Come on, Antonio. Let us help you" Portugal said to him.

Spain opened his eyes and they met Portugal's. The man who was once more like a neighbor to him, more than a husband. Like if they were parts of one single soul. Why did they have to see each other war after war? ...Why did Portugal have to leave?

Spain looked away, then turned around.

"This man here is Juan Martínez, but everybody calls him El Empecinado. Him and me will go tomorrow to Torija to blow up the castle, before the French use it as a fortification. The other guys of the group will tell you all details. They don't know a single word of English or Portuguese, so you will have to manage somehow."

Portugal smirked and said to him aloud, before Spain walked away:

"I'm glad to see you again!"

Spain stopped and turned to him.

"_Sim, é um prazer vê-lo novamente, querido_" he replied, smiling too.

He left England and Portugal with those bandits and walked along with El Empecinado.

"Are you sure we can trust them?" the man asked him.

"Right now I would even trust the Devil..." Spain replied.

He did not complain about living in the forests, always moving, following, spying, but the people were tired, had to resist sieges, hunger, repression...and he felt all of that even more than what could happen to his carnal body.

"My lord!" friar Miguel ran to his encounter.

"How many times I have to tell you, my dear friar, that you don't have to call me that?"

"Sorry, uh, _señor_ Antonio, but it is important. A mailman has been intercepted in Brihuega. He was following your steps with a message for you from the Parliament."

He tended him a few envelops at which Spain gazed for long before grabbing.

"Thank you" he finally said, and read the first letter while resuming his walk. But he soon stopped. "Oh."

"What has Pepe Botella done now?" El Empecinado asked him.

"Nothing. They want me to go to Cadiz. Sorry, Juanito, I can't go with you."

"It's alright. I understand it is important."

"...It is."

"Don't worry, then. You have your own fights. Leave this to us."

"May God help you."

Spain then read the other letter. This was not from any government. Just reading that handwriting, that name made his expression change. It was from his little girl, Mexico.

_Spain, _

_You haven't replied to the letters I have been sending you these last four years and it is now when I am told you are not living in palace anymore, but fighting in the hills and the forests against France. I must admit I spent a long time angry at you because I thought you were ignoring me, but now I tell myself you are just too busy defending your freedom to sit down and reply to letters which never reach you. I am not even sure this one will find its addressee, but I must try. No. You could not be ignoring something so important. And I am sure what has been happening lately in our continent is just a misunderstanding, people in the government not following your orders. They are being cruel to us, silencing us with violent methods, and I am sure you wouldn't order such a thing personally._

_Freedom is precisely what I want to talk to you about. Not your own—but I sincerely wish you escape the claws of that filthy France—but mine. I am not a little girl anymore. The facts are the facts. I am grown up now and it is time that I make my own decisions. I could make this piece of land and my people great if you gave me the chance to make decisions. _

_Here in America your children are very inspired by what you are doing. Please, don't think we are comparing you to France. We know you love us. You have been a severe father, you made us work, but I know you love us. The matter is, Spain, we are grown up now, and it is time we make our own decisions and are owners of our own lives. I am a woman and I have to start acting like one. I would be a failure if after all you have done to raise me I was still dependent from you. _

_I wish you the best in this war, but, please, I ask you to consider my words. May God protect you, my dear big brother._

"Your face changed" El Empecinado said to him. "Who's that from?"

Spain, after a moment of silence, chuckled and turned the paper into a ball.

"My baby girl. Nations seem different from humans but when they are teenagers they also have that rebellious phase" he replied, and threw it away.

* * *

The composition of the Parliament was quite...special, to say something. Since there was no way the Latin American representatives could attend, men from the New World who were in the city were chosen; there were writers, lawyers, doctors, but their numbers were so insignificant in comparison to priests, prestigious men, mayors and high ranks. Some were progressive, others supported the Ancient Regime. And not all noblemen supported absolutism, just like not all bourgeois were liberal. But they agreed on something: the situation of things made it impossible to go back to how they were before France's invasion.

"Bonaparte's intervention in Bayonne was completely illegal. Violence was used and there was no consent from the nation, here present."

Spain felt all those eyes on him, and he, the most powerful nation in the world, felt shy like a little boy.

"No king should get the crown without the explicit consent of his nation. We need a regulation which protects us from rascals like Bonaparte."

"You are our real sovereign."

Spain turned his head to the mariscal who was gazing at him.

"You are this land. It is you who should hold the power" the man said firmly. And Spain heard mutters of approval around.

"You shouldn't be subject to any family or person, but a mere collaborator. They don't own you. Nobody should. You are the representation of something divine, something pure, which should not be corrupted by the ambition of men" a journalist stood up to say.

"You know what people want. You _are_ the people" a doctor intervened. "So it is you the one we will follow."

Spain sighed. He stood up to speak to his audience.

"...Thank you, gentlemen, but I am not sure I could do this...I...I have never been such an authority..."

"Don't be afraid, my lord" a count said. "You will always have our support and our guide."

"...For so long...I have seen men involving me and you in their personal whims...Sacrificing lives like it was nothing...So much injustice..." Spain raised his voice and his head. "But that is over. From now on, whoever holds the crown, will have to listen to me. No. To you. It is you who will tell me what will be done, because you represent my people's will. It is you who will legislate. The king shall only execute it, and justice...Justice is only a tribunal's competence. It is not my place to judge somebody. And you...you should be chosen by all men in this kingdom. Yes, all men, no matter their age or condition. I shall not intervene, because my will is the general will..."

"But what about religion?" a priest interrupted the nation.

"The official religion is my religion: the Roman Catholic. No other shall be professed. I mean, if you liberals agree."

"We think it is fair" one writer replied, nodding slightly.

"In order to defend these rules, we will have a special police" Spain, heated, said, his hands on the tribune and eyes wide open. "But we also need a permanent army, see the consequences of not having one. I legitimize the king, so the king must do what I say, and what I want from the king is that he accepts these laws. If he doesn't, I will never let him touch the crown. Many of my people don't know how to read or write and we must change that. All populations will have an education system. And since they will have more interesting ideas, we should be able to know of them, even if they may seem challenging. They shall not be censored."

"What about the old privileges?" a marquis asked.

"To hell with them! There will be no more lords and no more vassals! All men were created equal! Everybody should be free to work and associate as they please! Do not look at me like that, gentlemen, your properties will still be yours. Just, you won't have any more subjects, but workers."

"What about the Inquisition?" an old bishop asked.

Oh, the Inquisition...Spain hadn't assisted to one execution in ages, because he had been so busy, but he had lost so much interest in them. In fact, they made him cringe so bad...After the Jewish and the Moors were expelled and Protestants were taken out of the country with the sword, what sense did they have? To chase the unfaithful and old ladies who thought they could summon the Devil?

"There will be no more Inquisition!" Spain declared, and more than one person in the room sighed in relief. "Mr. scribe, did you take notes of everything?"

"Yes, sir!" the little man exclaimed, moving his quill frenetically.

"So...Do you all agree?" the president asked the people in the room.

"Yes!"

"Aye!"

"Long live Spain!"

"Then, it is decided! Our Constitution is approved!"

"Gentlemen, this is an historical day, March 19th..." the bishop stood up, satisfied.

"Saint Joseph..." a man near Spain commented. "La Pepa..."

"This little beauty here" the nation jumped to the scribe and placed a hand on the pile of papers in his hand. "I love her so much she'll be my little Pepa!"

"_¡Viva la Pepa!_" was the cry which echoed in the Parliament, and in the streets Spain was cheered by the people of Cadiz, who carried him shoulder-high through the streets, crying, laughing, waving the new flags like if Spain was in a golden and red sea. And in all Spain the scream spread: "¡Viva la Pepa!"

* * *

**1813**

* * *

Wellington wasn't such a great tactician in Spain's opinion but he seemed to learn from his own mistakes and the result was there, in front of his eyes.

Joseph Bonaparte, seeing the little troops remaining in the country were being crushed by the Spanish, the English and the Portuguese, fled. But France wasn't allowed to leave with him yet.

"Look at him."

France was tied up, on his knees in front of his standing enemies. He shook his hair out of his face and kept looking at them defiantly.

"How cute" Portugal continued.

"He looks so pretty when he's all beaten up, like the snake he is" England smiled, watching the French with a hand on his chin.

"He's so pretty I want to cry...I will miss you so, so much, brother France..." Spain crouched down to his level. "I think...the only way I could bear being apart from you is taking what you call a souvenir from you..."

Spain took his knife and France honestly thought he was going to cut his ear off. Maybe his tongue or his nose. But what Spain cut was one of his golden locks.

"Good idea, Spain. If you allow me, I had so much fun kicking this man's behind that I want a memento of this too" England stepped forward, took the knife Spain offered him and cut another look. "Oh, and another one for my king."

"I want one too" Portugal took the knife and cut a few locks more. "And this one is for my king too, and for my queen, and my little princes, and my good friend Manoel, and Luiz, and Joaquim, and my good friend the baker will be so glad I remembered him..."

When they were done, France didn't even look like himself, with barely any hair left. Even then he kept glaring at each one of them.

"When you see your emperor again" England said to him, approaching so much he was almost kissing him, "tell him this is the beginning to his fall..."

He stood up and demanded the French soldier's attention snapping his fingers.

"We're done. You can take him away."

And so they did, so intimidated they didn't even raise their gaze from the ground. France, on the contrary, didn't stop glaring at them silently until he disappeared.

"Well, I think we earned ourselves a bottle of liquor or two" Portugal smiled, rubbing his hands.

"England will take care of it. He looted my cities; sure he has something" with that, Spain walked away too, leaving England frowning.

"Yeah, that wasn't very nice, you know..." Portugal said to him.

"I had something pending with him, that's all" England said, proudly raising his chin. "Well, I am still up for that drink. Forget that ingrate."

* * *

**1814**

* * *

Spain was so excited it made the people around him smile. He looked like the dog which had been waiting for its master to return from a long journey.

He bit his under lip when he finally saw the carriage, cheered by everyone in its path. He was the first to advance to its encounter. He wanted to be the first to say hello to Ferdinand.

He came alone. Spain would never hear from his parents again. But at that moment he didn't care. Ferdinand, the true king, was back. As soon as he got out from the carriage, he embraced him tightly.

"You're home..."

"I'm finally home..."

Ferdinand looked at him for long, the bandages, the scars, the scratches, while they came into the palace and Spain smiled at him.

"It's nothing. I mean, it was not a walk around the park, but it was worth it. Those French people are back to their swamp and you are here. And they may have told you already, but we got a Constitution!"

"A Constitution..." Ferdinand repeated in lower voice.

"Yes! It is something so big, we could do so many good things...Uhm, if you want to get the crown officially, you'll have to sign it, but you come from so far away, you'd better rest first."

"Yes, of course...Just give me some time."

He kept watching his wounds, how tired he looked. Spain was fool enough to believe it was concern and not calculation what was in his eyes...

Until those words were promulgated.

_«...my royal spirit is not only not swearing nor accepting said Constitution, nor any decree from the Parliament, but declaring that Constitution and said decrees invalid and with no value or effect, nor now nor ever, as if those acts had never happened and moved out of the way in time, and with no obligation in my nations and subjects of any class and condition to keep and guard them»_

"...What is this?"

Spain was standing, while Ferdinand was sitting, reading a book. The king was so calm, he turned the page without looking away from his reading, as if Spain wasn't there.

"You promised..."

Spain smacked the book and made it fall from Ferdinand's hands.

"You promised!"

Ferdinand finally looked at him, and Spain saw something in those dark eyes he didn't like.

"I never promised anything."

"Ferdinand, the Constitution is going to bring so many good things-!"

"I know what is going to bring: more power to you, less power to me."

"That's not true, you are still the king..."

"You are limiting me."

"It's for the common good."

"God put me where I am. Are you going against God's design?"

"God didn't do it. It was me. And your people. Which is the same. They gave their lives, their blood, everything they had for you...And this is how you pay them?!"

"I am warning you, Antonio, forget about that stupid thing."

"It is stupid for you! Not for me! That paper means my life finally has a sense, other than being the puppet of the monarch on call! Why can't you see?!"

"What I am seeing" Ferdinand glared at him, "is that those liberals managed to rot your brains. They put those ideas in your head and now you're acting crazy, against all order. Perhaps you need some time to get back on track...and remember who is in charge."

"You're only in charge if I say so!" Spain screamed at him.

They were not alone. The servants were still present. And they couldn't believe what they had to witness, still like statues.

And when Ferdinand slapped Spain, several of them couldn't repress a gasp.

The king had just smacked the nation.

"Guards!"

A couple of soldiers approached.

"Our friend Spain needs some time in the dungeon to remember what the order of things is..." Ferdinand said, shaking his hand dismissively and turning around.

Spain shook his head in disbelief. His body tensed and resisted the guards, who ended up taking him away anyway.

"_Hijo de puta_..."

Ferdinand picked up the book, sat again and resumed his reading.

* * *

**First of all, I want to thank the anonymous reviewer who made me realize that little spelling mistake. I encourage readers to point those things out to me, because I am not a native English speaker, sometimes I've used a browser which had auto-correct in Spanish and my brain's a mess, so surely this piece is full of mistakes like that one! And thank you for being so nice!**

**Now, the history behind this. Oh, do we Spanish glorify our war of independence. Every year in March there are representations all around the country of episodes of this war. Surely, we overlook the English and Portuguese aid, because, well, Portugal is that neighbor/brother we often forget about and we are so proud and hold so much grudge to the English for the destruction and looting they caused in our cities that it is no surprised tradition has put all merit on the Spanish guerrilla, small groups of people who attacked the French in isolated places and fled when help arrived. There was a very, very famous TV series in the 70s called _Curro Jiménez_**, **starred by late Sancho Gracia, which is about a bandit who fights the French and injustice in this historical context.**

**It was during this time when we have our dearest Constitution, almost as loved as our current one. It was called the Pepa because it was promulgated the 19th of March, the festivity of Saint Joseph, José in Spain, whose hypocoristic is Pepe—in female form, Josefa and Pepa, respectively. The kings had given the people some rights, but on this one the powers were separated, the king being only an executor, while the Parliament, elected by the people gained power. The Inquisition, as scary to the Spaniards as it is in the legend, was abolished, so was the Ancient Regime. For the first time in History, Spanish people had rights, independently from the will of some king.**

**The problem with the War is what came after it. During the war, many Latin American countries, inspired by the Spanish, North American and French revolutions, instigated by England's politics in America, the bad administration, the quarrels between the creoles and the Spanish and the abuse of the indigenous people, started standing up to Spain while it was still fighting France. **

**But the biggest problem was Ferdinand VII. We have seen that he was an ambitious man who plotted against his own family in order to gain the power. When he returned from France, the first thing he did was to eliminate everything built and chase the liberals who limited his power, using the forces of the old regime loyal to him, in a country which was tired and destroyed. And there are even more things to say about Ferdinand...He used to be called the Desired and became the most hated king in our history.**

**By the way, little mention at the birth of our current flag, in 1804. **


	17. What you desired

Spain bore the outrage he suffered with stoicism. Jesus Christ went through worse tribulations during his captivity. He didn't have someone watching him like he did. His name was Ambrosio Carriedo and was the guard of the prison he was in. While Ferdinand tried to undermine his spirits starving him, he sneaked food in, made by his own wife. He did everything possible to relief the cold and humidity of the cell bringing him blankets, even his own coat when it was not possible to get one.

"As long as I'm alive, I won't let anything bad happen to you", he said to Spain on his first night when, surprised about his kindness, gazed at him as if he was a madman who should switch sides.

He was a good man. Spain included him in his prayers every night. For Phillip, for Charles, Isabella and Ferdinand, Reccared, Mother, Father, my little siblings, eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord. Please bless all people who are now suffering, do not let anything bad happen to Mr. Carriedo. And make Ferdinand understand his mistake...

Carriedo was a good man indeed, but Spain couldn't say the same about Ferdinand. Ever since he recovered the throne, he dedicated his life to luxury, while his subjects were still recovering from the war, and persecuted liberals or anybody who didn't want things to go back to the way they used to be before France came along. From time to time he released Spain from jail, dragged him to the throne room, where he was received by him, sat on it, arrogant, and asked him the same question:

"Will you obey me?"

Spain's answer didn't change either: he never moved his lips, just stood up tall and raised his chin. After that, he was sent back to the cell for an increasing period of time.

Carriedo was so kind to bring him newspapers. It was the only way he had to know about what happened in the outside world—but the feelings of the Spanish population were his feelings. The fear, the disappointment...Those spoke louder than screams. But thanks to those papers Spain found out what his children in America were doing.

"Is everything alright, Antonio?" Carriedo approached the bars.

Spain handed him the newspaper.

"Uruguay has proclaimed himself independent..."

"Ah! Kids! So ungrateful! I know what I'm talking about: I've got three. It seems Pepe Botella didn't manage the problem with them very well in your absence and our king is not helping, either...Maybe if you talked to them..."

"I wish I could, but I don't think I'll be getting out of here soon."

"Then write them a letter."

"I can't send any letters."

"I'll help you. I'll find you paper and ink too."

"Oh, but Ambrosio, if they catch you..."

"You are something bigger than I am. Gotta take good care of you" Carriedo smiled at him, and centuries later Spain would find himself assaulted by that smile in his dreams, walking around the streets, at work...

So thanks to Carriedo Spain got the chance to communicate with his colonies. So many letters to send, all different, because some were loyal, like Cuba, others hesitated, like Panama, and others were heated by the idea of revolution, like Venezuela, Colombia and now Uruguay.

He wrote to them more like a father than a big brother: sweet, understanding, but severe. He was not in the mood for absurd games. When he was released from jail, he would have a serious talk to them.

For Phillip, for Charles, Isabella and Ferdinand, Reccared, Mother, Father, my little siblings, eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord. Please bless all people who are now suffering, do not let anything bad happen to Mr. Carriedo. And make Ferdinand and my children understand their mistake...

God, in his infinite mercy, listened, and acted through a commandant called Rafael de Riego.

* * *

**1820**

* * *

He showed up in prison, surrounded by other military men. He uncovered himself and bowed to him; his men imitated him. Carriedo hurriedly opened the door of his cell but Spain remained inside, not knowing what was going on.

"Milord" Riego said to him with a smile. "Your presence is required in the oath to our Constitution by king Ferdinand VII."

Spain thought he was dreaming. He couldn't believe it, when he was taken to palace to wash and groom himself, when he was taken to that large room, with Ferdinand in an extreme, with a book presented before him. When he crossed that room filled with eyes looking at him with admiration, when he found himself face to face with the king.

Their eyes met for a second, then Ferdinand, taking deep air, placed a hand on the document.

_"I have heard your vows and like the tender father I have acquiesced to what my children judge conductive to their happiness. I have pledged allegiance to that Constitution you yearned for and I will always be its firmest support. I have already taken opportune measures for the coming summoning of the Parliament. There, reunited with your Representatives, I shall enjoy concurring in the great work of national prosperity._

_Spain: your glory is the only one my heart ambitions. My soul wants nothing but see you united, pacific and happy at my throne. Trust, then, in your king, who talks to you with the sincere effusion which inspire the circumstances you are in and the intimate feeling of the highest duties Providence imposed onto him. Let us walk frankly, and me the first, the constitutional path; and showing Europe a model of wisdom, order and perfect moderation in a crisis which in other nation was accompanied by tears and disgrace, let us make the Spanish name be admired and venerated, while we build our happiness and glory for centuries."_

Applause filled the room. Spain, after a second of hesitation, clapped too, his lips curving into a smile. Ferdinand bowed his head to him, corresponding his gesture.

"I..." the king said when the solemnity of the act allowed them to have a private moment, "made a mistake, Spain. I am so sorry. I...was convinced you were forced to accept that Constitution due to the circumstances, to bad friends..."

Spain sighed and offered him his hand to shake.

"You're forgiven" he said, smiling at him.

"I've heard what is happening in America. I..."

"I understand. You may go. Take as many men as you need with you."

"It won't take long..."

If he was so sure about that, why was he so restless?...

* * *

**1821**

* * *

If it wasn't for one man, apparently with some influence, who recognized Spain and ceased the fire, they would have been dead the first second after setting foot on New Spain. They were taken to his colony, and on the way Spain noticed the way he and his men were looked at. They were intimidated by his presence there, yes, but there was also...challenging. Yes, they were afraid but still held guns in their hands and didn't hesitate to use them.

Somebody needed a correcting slap, Spain thought.

But when he was opened the doors of the villa and taken to Mexico...

"...You came..."

For a second, Spain could not believe the person in front of him was Mexico. His little girl Mexico. She was not little anymore. She was a woman now. And what a woman. Spain felt his heart bouncing. Her voluminous hair, which her sister Nicaragua liked to comb, was in a braid. She was wearing military clothes, more fitting a man than a lady, which highlighted the curves of an adult body. Spain gazed at her birth marks scattered all over her face, her full lips, her tan skin, but, mostly, those golden eyes.

Mexico was not a child anymore. She was a woman. A woman with a rifle in her hands. Realization made Spain have difficulty talking.

"...What's all of this about?"

"It seems we needed to grab guns to get your attention. Didn't you read our letters?"

"I did. And I don't understand what this is all about."

"What this is all about? You have not really read them, it seems. Alright, let me tell you: we are no longer taking your abuse."

"Abuse?"

"Yes...You think we are a bunch of idiots, right? You think you can control us eternally. Your European friends, even that Romano guy, left you, but you thought we are the fools who will always be doing what you say."

"If you are talking about taxes and production, in any family all members have to contribute to-"

"To what? Your glory?" Mexico chuckled sourly. "We are not your family. I used to have a family. A mother. And you killed her, stole her riches, stole me. The other guys."

"That's not true, Mexico."

"Are you denying it, Spain?"

"I..."

Spain paused, pressing his lips.

"I only did what I had to do..." he muttered.

"What you had to do...Conquer...Steal...Kill...In the name of God...In your own name, surely..."

"I never wanted to harm you!" Spain exclaimed. "True sometimes I've had to correct you, but do you think I would have ever hurt my own-" he interrupted himself, and swallowed. "My little siblings...You...I'm sorry I left you alone for so long...I..."

Mexico glared at him with the eyes of a tigress.

"You had so much to take care of, right?" she said. "So many people to subject. So much to steal. Why would you care for any of us? Why would you care for me? All you had to do was sent your goons to get the power, administrate it all, get rich with everything which rightfully belonged to me."

"Mexico..."

"You killed my mother Mexica. You killed her and made me your slave, saying you were my big brother. But you were never there when I needed a big brother. I grew up alone. You were not there to say good night to me, to hug me when I was scared. You came to watch your commercial interests then left, with the promise that if I produced more, you'd give me free time to act like a brother, expensive gifts...What if I stop producing for you? What will you do to me if I order my men to go home? Will you kill me too?"

"Mexico, I'll give you anything you want..."

"There is just one thing I want, Spain. Your head on a pike. And I am being generous. You are filth that should be cleansed from the face of humanity. Vermin like you should be incinerated and its ashes thrown to the sea so they won't contaminate the soil."

Mexico approached. The tip of her weapon touched Spain's stomach.

"Go away, Spain. Nobody here wants you."

"...No, I...!"

The soldiers around them aimed at him with their weapons.

"Go away" Mexico replied, this time slower. "And never come back."

* * *

**1823**

* * *

"Calm down, will you?"

Spain was free, so that meant he could spend time with Carriedo off duty like friends, drink beer together, talk freely about anything they wanted. Carriedo's wife, a charming woman, and his two daughters were very discreet and never intervened in their talks or let what they said leave the room.

"No, I can't calm down. They are making a mistake...I...France and England are lurking...They will do harm to them, make them their slaves, I am sure...After Mexico came Panama and Costa Rica...They didn't listen to me...Even my dear Argentina has declared herself independent. Venezuela, Chile, Colombia, Ecuador...Only Cuba and Puerto Rico have written to me saying they don't agree with their siblings, but they are not saying the truth...I can feel it...And Philippines...I must go talk to her...I don't want her to feel lonely too and..."

"Lolita, serve Antonio another glass of anisette" Carriedo told his wife.

"No, I don't want anisette, I want my babies back!"

"Dear God, you complain like a woman! Pull yourself together! You are the nation, damn it!"

"But I got feelings too, you know?!" Spain complained, whining like a child.

"They want to be independent? Alright. Let them. Just a couple of years living on their own and you'll have them back at your door begging for Big Brother Spain to help them. Just like my Pepito, the useless pig..."

"...You think so?"

"Romano came back to you after all that Kingdom of Naples fuss, right?"

"Right..."

"Don't worry, then. They'll be back."

"...Well...We'll have to wait and see, right?"

"Yes. You are just nervous about these news. It's making your mind go crazy and play tricks on you. I suggest you go see your girl Philippines. Being away from here will do good to you. You'll also be safe in case..."

Carriedo didn't finish and Spain gazed at him.

"...So it is true. France is coming back."

"..."

Someone knocked at the door. Everybody remained right where they were. It was late at night. They didn't expect visitors. They knocked again, this time harder.

"Who's there?" Carriedo spoke aloud.

But nobody answered. They just tore the door down.

"I said 'knock knock'!" a voice claimed.

Spain had seen that man before. White hair, red eyes. Prussia. He had fought against him in the past, not too long before. And the big guy who walked in behind him...That was Russia. They were at war for just a year. It was nothing, just a misunderstanding. Nobody resulted harmed except Spain, who drank too much vodka and got involved in a a quarrel with the Russian police. Russia found it so funny he declared the war was over.

Behind him another visitor appeared. France. His long, golden hair was back, but this time he was not smiling, like someone who got his revenge would have done. And along with him, Austria.

"...What the hell...?" Spain muttered.

"Ferdinand's spies told us you'd be here" Austria explained, looking at him severely.

"Spies? What...?"

Spain glared at France.

"You didn't have enough, did you..." he growled, approaching him, but was stopped by Prussia.

"Hey, don't blame Frenchie here" he said. "He just answered to your own king's call for help. We are the Holy Alliance. And we came to stop your bullshit."

"What Prussia here is trying to explain" Austria reprimanded Prussia's mouth with a glare before turning to Spain, "is that we came here to restore the precepts of justice, charity and peace."

"That is" Russia explained with a childish smile, "give your king his powers back."

"You have no choice, Spain" Austria explained. "Ferdinand has made a deal with France. Cadiz is surrendered."

"So you've got nothing better to do that meddle in my way of doing things?" Spain asked.

Austria looked at him with an eyebrow raised behind his glasses.

"You didn't seem so concerned about people's privacy when you got so many people killed for professing a different religion" he said.

"I was different back then. I-" Spain wanted to reply.

"Come here" Russia interrupted him, attracting him with a gesture of his hand.

Spain didn't really want to approach that man, but Russia insisted. Prussia pushed him to him and Spain was forced to obey. Russia then placed a hand on Spain's shoulder and made him look out of the door.

Outside, the streets were filled with French soldiers with weapons ready to shoot.

"So" Russia said. "Are you going to be a good boy?"

* * *

"Look at it."

Ferdinand grabbed Spain's chin and forced him to turn his head.

"I said look at it."

He could have stopped it, Spain thought...But why didn't his body respond? Why couldn't he get up from his chair, hit Ferdinand in the face and save commander Riego?

Why couldn't he...?

Riego was dragged to the place of the execution in a basket on a donkey's back, mocked by the crowd. Riego was really not going to have a honorable death: crying like a child, he did nothing but kiss the religious card he held in his hands. Spain would find out later that the absolutists, taking advance of his deplorable state, made him believe that if he asked for forgiveness in a letter the capital punishment would be commuted.

And weeping was still when the noose strangled him. After that, the executioner cut his head off and exhibited it to the human mass which crowded the streets. Ferdinand smiled satisfied, then turned to a trembling Spain.

"Did you like it? Because there is more."

At his orders, another prisoner was taken to the gallows. Spain stood up, following an impulse.

"C-Carriedo!"

His friend turned his head, recognizing his voice, saw him in the place of honor, by his king.

Spain looked at Ferdinand.

"Please..."

Ferdinand looked at his own nails.

"Please, no..."

"My dear Antonio...A lesson must be learnt" was the king's response.

This was Carriedo's punishment for having helped Spain during his confinement. It was Spain's punishment too.

He wanted to run there, save him, do something!, but again...

Ferdinand grabbed him by the wrist and forced him to sit back.

"Sit back, get comfortable."

If only they had met a lot earlier, in other circumstances...Or if Carriedo had got to live hundreds of years, so Spain would have enjoyed his company and heard his practical advice...

Carriedo gazed at Spain while the noose was tied around his neck. He was terrified. His face had lost all color, he was soaked in sweat. He was praying for his wife and children and what was awaiting for him in barely a few minutes. He interrupted himself to smile at his nation, his friend.

'Everything will be alright, Antoñito', Spain thought his lips muttered. And the trapdoor opened and his chubby body fell.

Tears ran down Spain's cheeks while Carriedo's body suffered a few spasms until it balanced lifeless.

Ferdinand stood up.

"Now it is your decision: to go back to the cell, or join me in palace. And note I am being generous letting you choose" he waited patiently for an answer which never came. "Hm? No answer? Alright. I take that as a formal request to go back to jail."

* * *

**1824**

* * *

They had prepared everything so Spain could watch it all from the window of his cell.

El Empecinado had been wise enough to escape to Portugal. Before the Hundred Thousand Sons of Saint Louis invaded Spain at the orders of the Holy Alliance, he wrote to a Ferdinand VII who seemed generous at that time, asking him for permission to go back to the country. Ferdinand accepted—then betrayed his own decrees, ordering to capture him.

El Empecinado was a brave man till the end. He broke the handcuffs and grabbed his sword. There was a moment of great confusion. Spain honestly thought he would get to escape. But the men in charge of taking him to the gallows weren't intimidated. They dragged him to the gibbet, forced the noose onto him and was hanged so violently one of his shoes flew meters away and his face turned black.

Spain let his body slip to the floor and curled up against himself.

All of his heroes...Innocent people...They were being executed, imprisoned, or had to flee, like Mr. Goya did...

Why was this happening? He...He never wanted any of this to happen...

"That is the price of being an empire."

Spain felt his heart skip a beat. He looked up to see no other than the Roman Empire through the tears, standing in the middle of the cell, watching him with a sad smile.

"Sooner or later, everything crumbles around you—_on you_" he heard him say, with the same paternal voice he had, that voice Spain thought he had forgotten.

When Spain wiped the tear away, he saw he was alone. Of course.

The guards in charge of controlling him then heard him let out a bitter laughter which made them shiver.

"I see now, Joanna! Now I see what you meant, _mi niña_! Now I see you were not crazy! What I had is gone forever! The ones I once loved are leaving me, or died! My hands are stained forever with blood and all for nothing! My people are killing each other and I can't bring myself to hate any of them! Haha! I understand now, my dear, and I'm sorry I thought you were mad! I am losing my mind too!"

One of the men wanted to approach, but the highest rank stopped him.

"He's just talking alone" he muttered.

* * *

**1833**

* * *

All of those years Spain had been more like a captive than a member of the royal family. Queen Maria Christina barely knew him, barely a shadow in the corridors, a spirit in the house, a legend. It wasn't until he received the news that the king was very sick that she formally met him as the nation. She was intimidated, but in spite of his mysterious looks and attitude, he was a gentleman to her. The only thing she had to reproach him was an unfortunate comment about her marrying her own uncle, twenty years older, and engendering his children. Also, there was a certain light in his eyes, when he saw the king in bed, about to meet his death.

"He named me regent. To make sure..."

"Mhm."

"...The Salic system has been abolished and a Pragmatic Sanction promulgated instead, so Isabella can be queen."

She gazed at him, waiting for a reaction. Spain's face seemed made of stone.

"...Since there are no male heirs, the crown should be his brother's. That is the tradition. But my husband judged the power would better stay in our family..."

"...Do you want me to give you my opinion, your Majesty?" Spain asked.

"...Yes, please."

"But you don't need it."

"I want to hear it anyway."

"My opinion is..." Spain replied, crossing his arms. "I have already had queens. Another Isabella I once knew did a great job managing my business. She made me great. And I fought one woman in England who made me sweat. No, I've got nothing against women, and I will obey the law."

"So, you do not support the pretensions of infante Carlos."

"...I never said that."

"So, is my daughter going to reign against your wishes?"

"It is complicated, your Majesty."

"I understand. Being a nation must not be easy."

"No. It is not..."

Spain visited the little princess and her baby sister at their room, where a governess was taking care of them. As soon as she saw him, she gasped and bowed to him. Spain smiled at her and told her it was alright with a gesture. Then, he walked to the three year-old who was playing on the carpet with a doll. The child stopped her chattering and gazed at the man with eyes wide open, bringing the doll close to her chest.

"Hello, _Isabel_. It's alright. My name is Antonio. I am your friend."

The girl kept staring at him in silence, doubtful.

"What's her name?" Spain asked, pointing at the doll.

He had to insist for a long time until Isabella uttered a shy response.

"María."

"She's so pretty..."

She was still intimidated, so Spain placed his hand on her cheek.

Then, Isabella started feeling something. Something, being so little, she couldn't understand or try to explain. It was a familiar feeling. Like visiting a place she knew, even if she was so small and just started to live, with no experience, no knowledge. Her mouth was filled with tastes, music echoed in her ears, her skin felt things which were not there.

She gazed at Spain and he smiled at her.

"See? I am a friend."

"María has a sister" Isabella then said.

"Does she?"

"Yes. Her name is Rosita" and she ran to get her from the toy box to show her to Spain.

"Oh, they are both so beautiful!"

While her father Ferdinand VII of Spain, once the Desired, now the Felon, died in his room, Isabella met Spain for the first time—not knowing at that time at the effort he was doing to look at her and treat her well, when a part of him, which knew she was going to inherit a crown against traditions, wanted her to disappear.

* * *

**So now you know how Ferdinand VII came from being The Desired to The Felon. Every promise he did was undone according to his interests. After Riego's revolt, he was forced to accept the Constitution, but asked his cousin, the new king of France after Napoleon's fall, for help, and aided by the Holy Alliance formed by Prussia, Austria and Russia, which wanted to bring absolutism back to Europe following the Christian precepts, they collaborated with France sending the Hundred Thousand Sons of Saint Louis, an army which took over Spain, this time with barely any resistance due to lack of time, of resources and some collaboration from the absolutists. So Ferdinand recovered his power and executed Riego and many heroes from the Independence War such as El Empecinado for being liberal. All until his death in 1833.**

**And here starts a new problem. It is now when we witness the birth of what is called today the Two Spains. Contrary points of view: absolutists vs. liberals. And the heir of the throne turning out to be a female was a matter which sent us our first civil war. Since females couldn't inherit the throne, Ferdinand brought back an old law by Phillip V which said they could, if there was not a male candidate (son, father, brother, nephew; the law we currently have, being the reason why Phillip VI, being the youngest of the three siblings, was crowned king instead of his sister Elena). The problem was that infante Carlos would have been king if it wasn't for the Pragmatic Sanction, and when Ferdinand died, he fought for his crown. **

**And the Spanish Empire was now almost completely gone. As explained in the previous chapter, the American colonies were inspired by the revolutionary ideas from Spain, USA and France, and rebelled against the Spanish government. While Spain was still fighting the French, Venezuela and Paraguay declared themselves independent in 1811. Then came the others. The Spanish resistance was crushed, but the country wouldn't accept their independence until the 1830s/40s, after Ferdinand VII died. Since it was not recognized, Mexico decreed in 1827 an order of expulsion of the Spanish. **

**Today, many voices in Mexico still accuse us of having exterminated the native cultures and stolen their identity and riches. There was an incident last year when president Obrador (grandson of a Spaniard) demanded Spain to apologize for the damage done during the conquest of the country. The funny thing is that here in Spain, though we might see the Mexicans as violent and poor, adore the country. We have so much in common and are so fascinated about their particularities that it can be said it is one of our favorites. For the portrayal of Mexico here, since Himaruya didn't make any official design, I took cidershark's from Tumblr. I find it really gorgeous.**

**And more headcanons here: nations have an effect on humans from their house, bringing them feelings which make them feel like home, something supernatural, when they have skin-to-skin contact. Also, there is Carriedo's second surname (people often forget Carriedo is the second, the first one being Fernandez!). I wanted Spain to have his glorious past represented in Fernandez, taken from Ferdinand the Catholic, and the common people from Carriedo; a way to balance, to have his feet on the ground and remind himself of his citizens.**

**Oh, and yes, there was a war between 1799 and 1801 in which nobody was harm except a Spaniard who got drunk and made a fuss in Russia. The two of them were too busy with their own thing to battle each other.**


	18. Change is good

When Ferdinand died, Carlos, his brother, proclaimed himself king. Basque Country, Navarra and Catalonia, fearing that they lost their ancient priviledges if Isabella was crowned queen, supported him. But Maria Christina was going to defend her daughter's right as sovereign, whatever it took—even if she had to pact with the liberals, which she personally despised.

Even outside of the country the European powers had a say on the matter.

"The Spanish throne cannot be in the hands of those insolent liberals!" Austria declared.

"The Church doesn't recognize Isabella as queen, so..." Prussia stated.

"Do you really want to go back to the medieval system, gentlemen? I don't think so" France replied.

"We are talking about giving the power to a woman!" Austria exclaimed.

"What the hell does that have to do with what we are discussing?" Portugal said. "Russia, I thought you admired Catherine II! What about your Maria Theresa, Austria? Almost everyone has had a female ruler!"

"Only because there was no other choice" Russia replied, shaking one finger.

"There is a legal problem here: the Salic law is still running because the previous kings didn't do things properly. Ferdinand couldn't just say it has no effect. That Pragmatic Sanction is illegal" Prussia pointed out.

"And do you really want liberals to get the crown? After what they did to you, France? Remember your head in a basket?" Austria said.

"We are going nowhere" England declared and turned his head to the man by his side. "Spain."

But Spain didn't reply. He was there, but he was barely listening to that conversation. He didn't have a say on the matter, anyway. Now it all depended on the military strength of each side. So the European powers ignored him and his crippling headache.

* * *

**1834**

* * *

"...You do not look very convinced."

Spain tried to look at the regent queen to the face, but his eyes averted to her swollen stomach. What a miracle. Her husband had died a year before and she was six months pregnant. The nation finally got to look at her.

"You dedicate no chapters to the rights of the citizens."

"Well...but my ministers have decided the relationships between the Court and the Crown. The power is shared with them...I know you, well, raised your spirits when you wrote the Constitution, but understand I cannot give your sovereignty. I have to protect my daughter's right...A Royal Statute is better than nothing, don't you think?"

Spain sighed.

"I guess so..."

Maria Christina tilted her head.

"...Is everything alright, Antonio?"

"...No...I...need to lay down a bit."

"Do you want me to call the doctor?"

"No, it's alright."

So Spain went to his bedroom to have a little rest. It wouldn't help, because it was something no doctor o druggist could solve. Out there, in the towns, his people were fighting their own brothers. People read the news about it with great expectation but had a peaceful life. He, on the other hand...He had felt glimpses of this in the past, but never like this. It was...exasperating. Most of the time he couldn't think straight. He felt so dizzy he couldn't take a carriage because he couldn't take the swinging. He even quit smoking because it made him vomit.

He had barely blown out the candle and closed his eyes when the sound of the door opening made him open them again.

Little Isabella walked to him.

"Are you sick, Antonio?" she asked him.

Spain nodded. Isabella placed her little hand on his forehead and kissed it. Spain then took her in his arms, getting her comfortable in bed, and embraced her. Both of them closed their eyes and tried to sleep.

He was still having those unpleasant thoughts about that poor child. The Carlists were part of him too, so their ideas had invaded his mind—but he was slowly keeping them under control. Isabella was a child. A nice child who didn't deserve it. He felt so sorry for her and her sister, ignored in favor of that sergeant of the royal guards, Fernando Míez, their mother was so close to—When he woke up in the morning, Spain would have to look for him and congratulate him, by the way...

* * *

**1836**

* * *

_"Long live the Constitution! Long live Mina! Long live England!"_

"Antonio, what is happening?" Isabella looked at his nation, weeping.

Her mother had been in a meeting with the rebels for hours. Of course, Isabella was nervous. So was Spain.

Maria Christina had favored the moderates openly and now she was paying the price. The progressive, often leaded by military men, were protesting all around the country. The Carlists gaining power had contributed to her discredit and it lead to that. She thought she would have a peaceful time at the palace of La Granja and she found unfriendly faces looking at her. Those men agreed with the rebels and, to make things worse, hadn't been paid in months. They wanted to greet Spain with a national hymn, but when they were told they were not allowed to sing such things, their patience reached the limit.

"You will have to be very careful with what you do when you grow up, see? Or this will happen to you every day" Spain said to her. Luisa Fernanda was also scared, so he held her in his arms too and kissed her hair for comfort.

Something good came from all of that, though. Maria Christina was forced to pledge allegiance to the Constitution of 1812. Spain was sovereign again.

Maria Christina was reluctant to it, but Spain taught Isabella personally about it. It was something good, he told her. It meant the two of them would work together to do good things.

Maybe it was the relief, the mild happiness, what made him grab paper and ink and write a letter to Mexico.

_«...I hereby recognize your independence and wish you the best. No matter what, I will always consider you a part of me and love you. Hugs you, Spain»._

* * *

**1841**

* * *

Maria Christina thought with the Constitution written in 1837 everything would be fine. She thought giving Spain sovereignty, separating powers, giving people freedom and rights was enough. But Spain didn't like it. Yes, men could vote, but only four percent of them, since their right was based on a restricted census. Also, a second chamber of government was introduced, the Senate, which was undeniably moderate; not to mention the monarch could freely choose and dismiss ministers and veto laws. That was not what Spain wanted.

Then she brought that new law, the Law of Local Government, which allowed the government to choose the mayors and councilmen. It was contrary to Constitution. It was like going back to the old times.

That, and the continuous scandals, because she was never seen not being pregnant, made Spain lose his patience.

"Are you asking me to leave, Antonio?"

She was defiant, but Spain was firm. After a moment of silence, Maria Christina sighed.

"Very well. In that case, I will write my abdication right now...Maybe if you had helped me reign we wouldn't have had to come to this..."

If she tried to attack his conscience, she failed. However, Spain had to say something in his defense: he was not in the state of helping anybody, but to be helped.

Thank God the headache the Carlist uprising ceased. Since general Baldomero Espartero had a lot to do with it, reconquering what was lost in the hands of general Zumalacárregui after his death, it was decided that he should be Spain's boss from then on.

Things sure changed a lot during that time. Maria Christina was asked to leave the country. In Rome, she got the Pope's blessing in her marriage with Míez, a secret everybody knew about, even thought he was a plebeian. She probably was so infatuated by that man she didn't think once about her daughters, the daughters she had with Ferdinand, that is, which she left in Spain. Isabella had to witness the purge of all the staff: the education of the future queen of Spain had to be progressive.

Well, education...Not that Isabella received a great education, in Spain's opinion. Every day there was a new person in the government with different ideas, so the future queen learned much more about piano, religion and domestic matters than politics or humanities. Isabella didn't make things easy ,either. Spain had always tried to teach her things that would be useful, since he had seen so many kings and queens make mistakes and do things right, but she was way more concerned about playing with her dogs than listen to him. Everything she wanted to hear from him were the tales of the battles he had fought in.

Spain really hoped Espartero didn't give him a reason to worry, so he could focus on giving Isabella the education she needed...He had enough having to accept that his siblings in South America were not coming back.

_«...I have always loved you, Ecuador, and I am sure you will manage well. However, if you ever need me, España will be there.»_

But it seemed that everything, everything at all was going wrong lately...

* * *

**1842**

* * *

What England thought was intimidation was actually wonder. He smiled at the little queen-to-be and bowed to kiss her hand.

"Thank you for your hospitality. I have had a very good time here. You have a very beautiful country."

"Thank you. I think we got to find the best aesthetic, after you have destroyed it so many times..." Spain smirked.

"I am very pleased to have met you, your Highness" England didn't hear that or pretended so.

"Pleasure is mine, Mr. England" Isabella replied as she was supposed to.

"Take care" England was a bit colder to Spain, just bowing his head to him. Like, yes, they had already shaken hands a lot of times before, why doing the same thing over and over?

"Hope you have a good journey back home" Spain wished him, and he couldn't believe he was saying that to that man.

England got into the carriage which in some days would take him to the port, from which he would return to his island. As soon as he disappeared, Isabella started snickering.

"By God, are his eyebrows ugly..." she said. Like the twelve year-old child she was.

"I know, right?" Spain chuckled.

But as they were taken back to Montjuic's castle, Spain thought he couldn't encourage such behavior in her.

"No, no, no, no. Isabelita, no. You have to respect other people, as ugly as they are."

"But Antonio, you were laughing too!"

"I know, and it's your fault. You are a woman and people will pay special attention to what you do, so you'd better be careful."

"Sometimes you are so boring..."

But she was right: didn't England have some valet who could fix them?

"Please, Spain, sing for me" that night she asked him before going to bed.

"Did you say your prayers?" Spain replied.

"Yes, so, come on, please! It helps me sleep well!"

Spain couldn't resist the way she was looking at him.

"...Alright, alright!"

Isabella, excited, bounced on bed until she finally found the perfect posture to listen, lying on her stomach, with her elbows on the mattress and her hands holding her head. Spain sat on the edge of the bed by her side and started singing:

_«Rosa das rosas e Fror das frores,_

_Dona das donas, Sennor das sennores._

_Rosa de beldad e de parecer_

_e Fror d,alegria e de prazer,_

_Dona en mui piadosa ser_

_Sennor en toller coitas e doores._

_Atal Sennor dev ome muit amar,_

_que de todo mal o pode guardar;_

_e pode-ll os peccados perdõar,_

_que faz no mundo per maos sabores._

_Devemo-la muit amar e servir,_

_ca punna de nos guardar de falir;_

_des i dos erros nos faz repentir,_

_que nos fazemos come pecadores._

_Esta dona que tenno por Sennore_

_de que quero seer trobador,_

_se eu per ren poss aver seu amor,_

_dou ao demo os outros amores.__»_

Isabella gazed at him for long, with a little smile on her face.

"It must be so sad..."

"It is not sad, it talks about Virgin Mary and-"

"I mean knowing songs from the old times" Isabella explained. "Living centuries. Seeing so many people grow old and die, like the people who wrote the song, who used to sing it. It must be really sad..."

That was so unexpected Spain lost his smile and was silent for a while.

"I bet you miss a lot of people" Isabella continued.

"...I do" Spain looked back at his little queen and smiled. "But I am happy I got to know them. Now, enough chatter. Matters like this Will give you nightmares. You are supposed to be sleeping already."

"Good night, Antonio."

"Good night, dear."

Spain walked out of the room but didn't go to bed. Instead, he took a long walk around the castle, watched the city for one more hour. He tried to shake off what Isabella said to him, but it was the gospel truth: people like England would probably be around for many more centuries to come, but Isabella...one Isabella would be a memory too...

He desperately needed something to distract himself from those thoughts, but what he got was not precisely what he wanted. From up there, he could see the lights of the barricades which were being built.

Soon, it became something too big to notice.

Espartero had to act. He traveled from Madrid to Barcelona and was informed of the situation.

It seemed the people had found out about the deal with England and they didn't like it. Numerous voices claimed it would be their ruin. So many Catalan producers depended on their sales, and if English textiles were introduced at a lower cost...Also, Espartero was being too repressive. Spain also thought he was a very severe man, but, well, there were things that had to be done.

But not what he did...Not what he did...

Espartero tried to put order in the city, but the Barcelona people were against them. They threw rocks at their heads, fought them, disobeyed their orders. Isabella was taken back to Madrid just to be safe, while Spain stayed with him, watching the course of events, concerned, hoping there was a solution.

They got a manifest, in which they asked Espartero to protect the Spanish industry and asked...for the independence of Catalonia? Signed by...Catalonia...

"They think they have won?" Espartero took Spain out of his confusion, crossing hsi arms behind of his back and gazing into space with a serious look on his face. "Well, I have not said my last word..."

It was soon spread all over Barcelona. The rebels had forty-eight hours to surrender. Else, the city would be bombed.

"It...what?"

Spain gazed at Espartero intensively, demanding an explanation, and the general just sat on his armchair and served himself a glass of liquor.

"If you want respect, Spain, you have to earn it."

Barcelona didn't understand either. They tried to negotiate, but Espartero didn't even want to hear about it. He would negotiate nothing. All he wanted was their surrender.

And since they didn't, executed his threat.

Spain heard the first explosion when he was in the toilet. He had to lean on a wall to prevent himself from falling. Feeling something strange, ugly and wrong inside of his chest, like he was running out of air, he ran to Espartero. He looked for him. And he finally found him, supervising the bombing, standing up tall, giving the orders.

"Fire!"

All those cannons were aiming at the city, his beautiful Barcelona...He saw fire, buildings crumbling...Could Espartero hear the screams too? Because he could, even at that distance. Maybe inside of his head.

"STOP! STOP IT! STOP IT!"

The soldiers stopped, and Espartero frowned.

"Keep firing" he ordered.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Spain exclaimed.

"What I had to do. You cannot let these people control you."

"THOSE ARE CIVILIANS!"

"They have attacked my soldiers. They could have hurt the queen too."

"But..." He couldn't breathe. Dear God, he couldn't breathe...

"Keep firing, I said!"

The soldiers were hesitant. Who should they obey? Their regent or the nation itself? In the end, Espartero's iron calm won, and projectiles kept falling on Barcelona.

One thousand and fourteen. That was the number of them Barcelona needed to surrender at midnight, the next day. Spain felt each one of them, that is why he had to lie down in bed for days. Yet he could still feel it. The destruction of hundreds of homes, the hospital and the city hall. The twenty six killed. The hundreds of collaborators who after that were caught and executed. The fear...

"I did all of this for you, my lord" Espartero said the next time he saw him. He was supposed to be apologizing, but Spain had the impression he had not changed his mind at all.

Spain didn't even want to see him for the rest of his life. That slight was something Espartero found back to Madrid, everywhere he went, everywhere he looked. Nobody wanted him near. Nobody thanked him for his service.

That is why he was forced to resign.

Thus, Isabella was crowned queen, at the age of fourteen.

* * *

**1846**

* * *

Many names had been considered for Isabella's future husband. Of course, Europe couldn't mind their own business and some countries proposed a candidate. France presented the duke of Montpensier, who was accepted but as the husband of Isabella's sister Luisa Fernanda, aged fourteen. Maria Christina, as a mother, also had candidates: the count of Trapani, Isabella's carnal uncle, infante Enrique, cousin, and considered she had the right as a mother and guard of her daughter's well-being to reject Francisco de Paula of the Two Sicilies. President Narváez also expressed his will to marry the young queen. But who was chosen in the end?

"Paquita! I can't believe it turned out to be Paquita!" Isabella lamented in the confidentiality of her room, to Spain.

Yes, Spain couldn't believe it either. Her cousin Francis of Assisi was not a man he could consider...well, he couldn't even be considered a man! Everybody knew he was queer. He could not be a good husband.

"Oh, Antonio, what shall I do?"

"What can I say, my love? There's no other option. Carlos..."

"Don't even mention him! Sigh...I...I will marry Francis, alright...But just because I don't want to touch that man..."

If she had accepted her cousin's proposal, everybody would have gotten what they wanted. Isabella's uncle would have gotten the throne, maybe not for him, but for his descendants. She would have been married to someone decent. But he understood her refusal. He also saw something fishy in all of that.

"How am I going to give heirs to the throne if he is...?"

"Well...I'm sure you'll find a way."

Spain attended the wedding feeling weirdly sad. Poor girls, he thought. Doomed to marry conveniently so they could save the throne. Girls like them should not be going through those sorts of things...

The bad thing was that Isabella's rejection was not taken well by the Carlists and Spain started suffering migraines again...

* * *

**1868**

* * *

Pablo didn't like losing—and less when the rival cheated. When Ramiro was discovered hiding aces in his sleeve, he, enraged, smashed the bottle against his head. Nobody was concerned for a rascal like Ramiro, who had a hard head anyway: everybody laughed. Even Spain did. At that moment very few people looked at him. Yes, he was the nation, but he came to the tavern so often he was well known and nobody was impressed. His coming was only important because he had tons of money and payment would never be a problema.

It was then when a paper slipped from the hands of the guy in the nearby table. Spain politely bent down to grab it and give it to him.

"There you go, am-"

He didn't take his eyes off it. Had he done it, he would have noticed how the man paled.

Spain stood up, his smile vanishing and pointed at the picture.

"Where did you get this?"

It was a disgusting drawing of Isabella, in a stable, holding a donkey on its hind legs, so it was in the right position to... 'Just to try everything...to screw an ass, she found a way', was written on the foot.

The man didn't reply. He tried to but couldn't. Spain crumpled the paper then punched him in the face.

"Antonio! Antonio!" Luis exclaimed, grabbing him before he killed him with his own hands.

"Come on, it's okay..." Ramiro was bleeding, but even he got up to push Spain away from the man.

"No! It's not okay! I'm going to end with this...!" Spain shook all those people away from him and stormed out of the bar. His good mood was ruined for the rest of the night.

He knew Isabella was out of control, but this was going too far...

He had met many kings and queens during his life. He knew, being in a position of power, they were allowed to do things the rest of the mortals couldn't. Take Philip IV, for instance. He even prayed on nuns, and Spain had to make up numerous posts so all of his natural children had a position. What about Maria Christina? 'Married secretly, pregnant publicly'. He couldn't talk too loud: he had succumbed to the charms of the Indians he found the first time he traveled to America and his monarchs had always provided him women to satisfy his carnal needs with. But Isabella...He met those pleasures too soon, forced, but she got hooked on them. Surely, with a husband like that, who had a lover whose name even Spain knew...She called general Serrano 'the pretty general', it was so shameless Serrano had to be moved out of Madrid. But he was not the only one. There were so many more. Out of the twelve babies she birthed—or aborted, unfortunately—, it was unsure which of them were Francis'. If there was one.

No, that was not the kind of behavior her people expected from her. In fact, that was not everything. The lacking education she had received was now showing, and Spain regretted not being able to get results from his own implication. She was rude at the table, hated reading, had a terrible handwriting which made her job difficult, and was way too generous giving out titles. The doctor who helped her deliver little Alfonso, just for predicting it was going to be a boy was named marquis. Marquis of the Royal Fortunate Answer.

And most of all, she had no initiative: her will depended on what the people around her told her. Spain tried not to intervene, but she allowed all of those men and women dictate her laws, the direction of her government. Spain didn't know anymore if he was a conservative or a progressive. So many presidents had passed that he didn't have the time to learn their names before they were replaced. But she preferred the moderated, and they were starting to impose their will to all other options.

Spain found himself poor again, and Isabella was more concerned about having sex with every man she came across than being a good queen. She had impulsed the railroad, that was true, but she wouldn't win the love and respect of her people just with that.

One more uprising and...

Was God mocking him? Did he have a cruel sense of humor? When he got to palace, Isabella had already packed her things. Right when Spain was coming, she was leaving.

She looked at her sadly, surrounded by her children, taking the hand of her daughter María del Pilar, her husband by her side.

"The people have made it clear in Cadiz, that man...Topete. They don't want me. You don't want me, either."

Spain didn't reply, looked down at his feet, and Isabella smiled sadly.

"That's what I thought...Do you know what they said? 'Down the Bourbons! Long live Spain with honor!'. I see you shall not live with honor as long as I am queen, so I free you, Antonio, _querido_."

The queen sighed, looking around her, at that castle she wouldn't see again.

"You have been ungrateful, Antonio" Francis said to Spain. "We did everything we could for you, and you..."

"No" Isabella interrupted him. "This is not his fault. Probably it was mine."

She approached him. Once she was so young, so sweet. She was grown up now, older than Spain seemed—but she still was like a child in more than a sense. She kissed his cheeks and caressed them.

"Goodbye, Antonio. And thank you for everything."

With that said, she grabbed her daughter's hand again and marched out of the room. Francis considered there was nothing he wanted to say, maybe, because he just left. Little Alfonso walked slower so he could give Spain a last look.

Even then Spain knew he was not going to see her ever again.

All he could do was to wait, sat on the sofa, and wait to see in whose hands he was now. Those were such unpredictable times he prepared himself mentally for any outcome...

* * *

**This century is the nightmare of every Spanish student, because there are so many dates, so many names, a couple of constitutions... Isabella II's reign was such an unstable one...**

**It began with her uncle Carlos demanding the throne. With the support of the Holy Alliance, he fought for it in what could be considered an interlude to our sadly known Civil War. However, it was not such a big deal and most of Spain could have a normal life. In the end, Isabella won and was crowned queen. During her mother's regency, her decisions were not popular, because she favored one group and also had a scandalous affair with a member of the royal guard, of which she had twelve children. A revolt made her exile herself and a liberal who fought against the Carlists, Espartero, was named regent. He disentailed the belongings of the church and ended with the privileges of some areas of Spain, but what really brought his downfall was the bombing of Barcelona, which was not to suffocate independence movements, as if has been said, but to control an insurrection caused by a deal with England which would damage the interests of the wool producers in Catalonia. (Also, this is completely unrelated, but we have a saying in our language which is 'you have the balls as big as the horse of Espartero's, referring to a equestrian statue of him which had big attributes, to say a person is very brave). **

**So Espartero had to leave and Isabella was declared in majority of age at the age of fourteen. Someone so young, childish and so badly educated (her mother didn't give her the attention she needed) was an easy target for flatterers, as she admitted herself to novelist Benito Pérez Galdós. Her reign is a succession of different governments of different ideologies, uprisings and scandals, because she turned out to be as much of a sex addict as her father was. Her husband and cousin was homosexual, and she paid him a million reales for acknowledging her children as his. Both of them were mocked in a series of pornographic and satiric pictures called "Los Borbones en Pelota" ("The Bourbons naked").**

**She married Francis, instead of her cousin, Carlos' son, and that provoked the Second Carlist war.**

**It all ended with the revolution called La Gloriosa, which was formed by military men from all kinds of ideologies. They had the support of the Spanish people, who were fed up of her. She fled to Paris, where she lived for the rest of her days. She was said to be a merry, nice person, who loved her country; she was just unlucky to have been born a queen.**

**Also, this is the time when the South American nations finally got recognized as independent, after winning their respective wars against Spain.**

**And the poem Spain sings to young Isabella is the Cantiga of Saint Mary, Rosa das Rosas, from the 13th century.**


	19. Gone

Spain trusted the man who was elected president after Isabelle exiled, Juan Prim. In Spain's opinion, he was a man with a good judgement, and very brave too. He had gotten death threats and he didn't even flinch. When he informed his nation that he had chosen Amadeo of Savoy, from Italy's house, to be his new king, Spain didn't complain. He probably knew what he was doing...

Too bad he had such an abrupt end, right when they were getting to know each other. Three days before Amadeo arrived to his new kingdom, Prim got a new threat, which said he would be killed that day, but he didn't take it seriously, like the previous ones. He went to the Parliament like any other morning. When he was making his way back home, though, something made the coachman stop the carriage abruptly when they had just entered Turco street. Someone opened the door and shot him five times. Prim was taken home immediately. The doctor determined the wounds were not serious, he would survive—but a sudden fever killed him the same morning Amadeo arrived. However, Spain attended the open casket funeral and like several doctors he noticed some strangling marks in his neck.

They told him not to think about it and Spain was forced to move on, because he had a new king to greet.

"Your Grace..." Amadeo bowed to him when they were introduced and kissed his hand.

The first impression Spain had of him, he had to confess, was not very positive. To him, that man was a foreigner, and he was fed up of foreign countries meddling in his government.

But soon he saw he was a very kind king. Probably the kindest he had ever had.

* * *

**1842**

* * *

"_Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris. Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo_..."

"Amen."

In those times, when more and more people flirted with the progressive ideas, Spain found it hard to find someone as devout as he was, even if he had relaxed with the centuries. Maria Victoria was said to be too religious, but Spain thought it was perfect, because they were very similar. She found his collection of crucifixes, relics and rosaries fascinating, not intimidating or strange. And she never gave the press any scandal due to her sexual activity, like Isabella and her mother did.

"I am curious, Mr. Spain, and I hope you pardon my curiosity."

"Of course, your Highness."

"Why did you give yourself a human name? Is it a practical matter or...?"

"Well...it was...something my heart demanded."

"To feel human?"

"...More like reminding myself who I am and where I come from."

Maria Victoria smiled. "That is so nice."

They walked out of the room together, joining Amadeo in the living room.

"I hope prayer gave you comfort, your Greatness" the king said to him.

"Why do you say so?" Spain asked, taking seat in front of him.

"Because the Carlists are attacking again and I know you little brother Cuba..."

Spain sighed.

"Oh, dear, you shouldn't remind Spain of such painful matters" Maria Victoria frowned at Amadeo.

"I'm...alright..." Spain replied, shaking his head.

"Take as much rest as you need. Leave everything to me" Amadeo insisted.

"It won't be necessary. But thank you."

It was a blatant lie, even the king knew it, but he didn't object. He was a good man. He tried to get as much weight off his shoulders as he could. He really cared for him. He was elected not knowing much about him and made the effort to. Spain felt like he had just been adopted into a loving family. Amadeo's wife, a very cultured lady, learned his language so she could communicate with him. Maria Victoria spent generous amounts of money on charity, even ordering the construction of the Asylum for the Laundresses, so those women had a place to leave their children while they were at work and a place to heal if they suffered an accident.

They could have done so many good things if they had had the time.

There was a moment, after they survived that attempted murder in Arenal Street, when it seemed the two monarchs would finally be accepted by the population. But who were they kidding? They would always be foreigners. They were humble, yet nobody paid them the respects a king had right to. When there was a religious festivity, the noblewomen wore in their mantillas Bourbonic or Carlist symbols. The Church and the moderates didn't want them and prepared the return of the Bourbons. The Republicans, obviously, were disappointed by their presence and turned the public opinion against them, provoking revolts. The Carlists kept fighting for their right to reign.

And there was Cuba, too...

Since the government who had to support him was weak, divided and unstable, Amadeo, with no friends, was forced to abdicate just two years before .

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Antonio. Take care" was the last thing he said to the nation he had failed to take care of before going back to Italy.

At that moment Spain didn't feel his departure much. He was still the foreigner. It wasn't until a lot of time passed, after Maria Victoria died in 1876 allegedly because of the physical and emotional trauma of her stay in his house, and Amadeo, in 1890, when he realized how much of an idiot he had been.

But at that time he had too many things to think about. What would become of him. Spain found himself again with no king and not very sure of what to do.

* * *

**1873**

* * *

President Figueras scratched his mustache with a smile.

"You seem less than enthralled."

"I have no say in the matter, but...Me? A Republic? I don't know...I've always been taken care of by a monarch..." Spain admitted.

"Why don't you take this as a sign of maturity?" Figueras said to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You have always been a slave to the whims of a king, one more subject, as if you were not something more precious, bigger. It is time you become independent from a family and show you are more than one of them."

"I am not very sure about that, sir..."

"Like a young man who starts living on his own, you are scared. It is natural. But you don't want to keep living your life like a child, do you?"

At that time, Spain didn't know what to think. A republic...He really couldn't see himself as a republic. Many republics he had met had no principles, since there was no monarch to guard values and take them to the right path. Not having a strong leader, they had been an easy target to the bigger fish.

...But it was true that he had had weak monarchs who ruined everything, who only cared about their own benefit, who made his life a living hell...

So Spain thought...why not? He could give it a chance.

"I'm on my own now..."

He would not stay in palace. It was a place too big for him. So, instead, he acquired a house in Barcelona and moved all of his belongings there. It had to be modest, though. The war against Cuba and the Carlists was making him spend too much money.

Life was good there, in La Rambla. Living alone wasn't as bad as he had expected. There was no one to tell him how to dress, when to eat or go to sleep, who watched him every time he left and reproached him going to the bars or performances. His customs relaxed, and he felt so comfortable...

...That is, except for the matter with Cuba.

_«My dearest brother. I don't want to fight you. I don't want to do this. This is hurting me more than it is hurting you, I assure you. Please surrender. Please, come back home and let us forget this and be a family again...»_

How many letters like those did he send to the island? How many of them were impregnated by a tear or two?

And then Catalonia became someone he couldn't ignore.

She just knocked at his door. Spain only knew she was a nation because he felt that weird sensation when he opened it and saw her, her hazel eyes, her brown hair; else, he would have thought she was a teenager who knocked at the wrong door. She said nothing to him in that first encounter, she didn't give him the chance to ask her who she was. She just handed him the envelope and left, as if she was in a hurry. Still standing by the open door, Spain opened the letter and read it.

_«Proclamació de l'Estat Català»_

Spain gazed into the direction the girl had left, but she was already gone, of course.

He told the President about it, and he explained the matter to him.

"Yes, your little sister wants to be independent. Don't worry, we already took care of it, doing what we supposed you would have done: she was denied her petition, but compensated her making the regular army voluntary."

"Ah...O-Okay, good..."

"I know Cuba is occupying your mind..."

"Yes, yes, sure...Thank you..."

Spain would have liked to handle that issue personally. Get to talk to that 'sister' of his. But it was true. He found that all he thought about was Cuba. Cuba. Sometimes Puerto Rico and Philippines to, but mostly Cuba.

He was so focused on that, with the ghost of anarchy, Marxism and Catalan independence flying over his head like vultures, that he didn't really get to enjoy his period of independence. Because general Arsenio Martínez Campos judged that the transition back to monarchy was going too slow following the political course and revolted in Sagunto. Thus, Spain found guards at his door requesting him to follow them back to Madrid, where a Bourbon was waiting for him.

* * *

**1876**

* * *

The Carlists wouldn't bother Spain again. Alfonso, that shy boy Spain had seen being born and grow up, returned as a man, barely recognizable to him, and personally traveled to the North to supervise the fight. Maybe it was his bravery and strategy, or the weakness of the Carlists, but soon the headache disappeared. Those uncomfortable relatives wouldn't bother him again: they were ordered to leave the country and never to come back, nor them nor their descendants. With that, Alfonso earned Spain's respect and gratefulness.

"There is so much more I want to do for you, Antonio...And I think I know where to start from" Alfonso said to him, and the next thing he did to him was to promulgate a new Constitution.

It...well...At least Alfonso had good will. He shared the power with the Parliament and all...It would have been better if Spain had been given sovereignty but, well, at least his people got the right of opinion, reunion and association...Perhaps with time he could convince him that...Hah, what was he saying? That would never happen. Spain had to assume he was back to that strange fate all nations suffered: being something more than a subject but with little to say on what their governments decreed.

He guessed it was his fate...

Oh, well. He was Antonius. No matter what, he would still be him. He prayed God to never let him forget it.

Still, he was convinced that this king was different. He was a good man. He could sit with him in the living room and talk to him about his feelings. He didn't judge. He didn't frown. He seemed understanding. He told him about his mother, in Paris, they talked about the times when he was a little boy and Spain would play pirates with him. Good times, those!

* * *

**1885**

* * *

Spain's European neighbors seemed to like Alfonso. Austria said he had a good disposition, Belgium picturing in a different way, saying he was 'so cute'.

"You sure forgot about me fast" Spain smirked.

Belgium was about to say something to him but she giggled instead.

"But he has this sad look, what's the matter of him?"

"Oh, well...He once had a cousin he loved, but she died too soon, you see..."

_«Where are you going, Alfonso XII? / Where are you going, so sad? / I'm looking for Mercedes / late yesterday I didn't see her...»_

But the one who seemed the most satisfied with Alfonso was Germany. Spain hadn't had the pleasure to personally meet him until then. The first time he saw him he was shocked. He almost uttered a name, Holy Roman Empire, but good thing he bit his tongue before he did. Holy Roman Empire died long time before. That was Prussia's younger brother, someone unrelated to his poor associate. Anyway, Alfonso was very kind to emperor William I, and that was something that irritated France so much he didn't attend any ceremony in Alfonso and Spain's honor. Not that Spain wanted to see him...

However, the Caroline Islands almost made Spain and Germany fight. Germany had occupied him thinking that he was doing no use of them, and Spain was so outraged that if it wasn't for Alfonso's intervention, he would have traveled to his house and punched him in the face. In the end nothing happened, a treaty solved the matter, thanks partially to the intervention of the Pope...

"I don't want to fight you. I had the impulse to break your spine, but I admire what you did, the empire you built, and I don't want to ruin myself buying ships and feeding new grudges and hatred" Germany explained.

"Well, thanks. Truth be told, I don't want to fight you, either."

"Please, send my best wishes to your king. How is he?"

"He...well...not very well."

Alfonso was conciliating. So much he defied the President and the Parliament and visited Valencia when a cholera outbreak affected the population. Spain had been showing signs, and had to rest in bed for months. By the time he felt healthy enough to leave it, Alfonso's condition worsened and, infected with tuberculosis, died.

His wife Maria Christina of Austria had had two daughters with him and was pregnant when her husband passed away. Spain looked at her swollen womb and wished it was a boy. Because if it turned out to be another girl...he couldn't go through the same crap again...

Thank Heavens, his wish was granted. A boy was born months later. A boy who was king from the very moment he was born.

Although the little heir, like all children in the royal family, became something very important to Spain, it was another boy who worried him...

* * *

**1898**

* * *

Puerto Rico had been easy to pacify. He wanted to be independent, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. When Spain visited the island to negotiate, he almost pierced his thorax with a sword. Not that he was that angry. He just wanted Spain to see he was serious. That was Spain's impression.

"...Are you sure about this? Completely sure?" he asked.

"Yes. I did not take this decision lightly" was Puerto Rico's answer. Once, he was a very small boy. Spain liked to dress him in white because he reminded him of a little angel. Now he was a man, with hair in his chin and a cocky but kind look.

"...I don't want to fight you any longer. Here. This is an Autonomic Letter. It will allow you to govern yourself. It has my sign, so no matter what any politician says, nobody can take it away from you."

Puerto Rico gazed at the paper for long, then looked at Spain. He got up from his chair and embraced him. Spain returned the gesture, caressing his hair.

"I'm going to miss you..."

Puerto Rico thought he had perceived his brother's voice trembling.

"Hey, you're not going to cry, are you, old man? You won't lose me. I'll still be here, you know?"

"You don't need your old big brother anymore..."

"It's not that. We just...need to do things on our own. Act like adults, you know? Please, I know you are having a hard time with Philippines and Cuba. Give them what they want. Don't make them hate you. Stop this madness. It is time you let us go..."

It was true it hurt Spain having to fight his boys and girls, but the idea of them leaving forever terrified him so much he would have done anything to keep them by their side.

He promised to give himself time. Consider what he would do. He would start with Cuba. He had already hurt him, he didn't want to make things worse now that he had forgiven him.

But America had to show up and ruin everything...

* * *

"Nobody says no to Spain, right? You still keep certain things from your Conqueror times..."

Spain avoided looking at the bandages in Cuba's arm.

"...I don't want you to leave, Cuba..."

"Yes, I saw that..."

"Mexico, Venezuela...They claim I treated you guys badly. Is that the reason why you are doing this? Is this your revenge?"

"No, you..." Cuba sighed and turned around. "I can't say you're an angel, Spain. You made me work for dusk till dawn growing your sugar. I still think that's all that matters to you..."

"That's not true. I care about you. I really do."

"Then, why don't you let me be free?"

"Because you are not in a jail."

"I just want to do things my way."

It was funny they were having this conversation. Cuba had grown so, so much...Hair now covered his jaw. He had grown, tall and wide. He had muscles. He had the habit of smoking cigars, too. Anyone who looked at them would have guessed Spain was the youngest. But there was that man, in front him, requesting him to be independent.

"Also...you sent your troops to shoot at me."

"I..."

"Admit it, Spain: you don't want me to leave because you need me. Not emotionally. But economically. I am your working mule."

"I would never say that about you."

"Then show me you actually give a damn about me and let me go."

"I will not do that."

The way he said it, his frown, made Cuba smirk.

"I knew it...You don't want me to go, because you'd lost so much money. You think Cuba is the dumb one who will stay with you forever and ever..."

"No, I-!"

A sound distracted Spain. A ship had just arrived to the port. He came closer to see where it was from, because it didn't look like part of his fleet.

It was North American...

"...Have you been seeing America?" he asked in low voice.

"That is none of your concern" Cuba siad.

"Answer to me. Have you?" Spain turned to him.

"I've told you: I owe you nothing, not even an explanation... America has been helping me. It is the fair thing. You helped him be independent. Now he is helping me. What? Don't you think it's fair?"

"He offered me money, did you know that? He wanted to buy you and Puerto Rico..."

"I don't believe you. Admit it, Spain, the matter here is that the others are getting the possessions you didn't have the balls to defend."

Cuba flinched when Spain's open palm almost made contact with his cheek.

Spain stopped himself and gazed at Cuba with his eyes open wide. Cuba's surprised expression turned into a scowl, and turned his back on him.

"Cuba..."

"Don't talk to me" he replied.

Spain had no choice but let him go. That way...he would have the time to think about what he almost did...

After that, he went straight to America.

"What's with this cold reception? I thought we were in Cuba, not the North Pole..." the man with the glasses smiled.

"You know very well what the problem is. You can't just show up without announcing yourself. That's like a declaration of war" Spain replied.

"Is it? Oh...I had no idea."

"There are so many things you need to learn if you want to become an empire."

"An empire? What? What are you talking about?"

Spain glared at him.

"You think I'm stupid, right? Cuba. You've been supporting him."

"I believe in freedom, and he wants it, so..." America replied.

"You couldn't care less about his freedom. All you want is a colony. You escaped from England's power and you want to do the same to someone else? You disappoint me..."

America's smile changed. He was not bothering being diplomatic anymore. He chuckled and tilted his head.

"Look who's talking! You don't give a fuck about Cuba either! You just know you'd be completely ruined if it wasn't for his help! If he left, you'd be poor as a rat! You act like Papá Spain, and you are the worst of all! You are even worse than England. I know what you did in the South. I read about it, the guys told me, even your friends, Italy. What you did to the empires. What you did to those children. And in Europe, to everyone who didn't agree with your ideas."

"That was the past! You have no right to hold that against me! Listen to me, America: being someone big is tempting, but it only leads to one place: doom. I won't let you have Cuba and Puerto Rico. Not only for their sake, but yours too. You have no idea of what being an empire is. One day you are here and the other you are down here. Everything you built will crumble around you, and on you."

"Thaaaank you for that piece of advice I didn't ask for. As I said, I believe in freedom: what about you let me hang out with my new buddy Cuba and you, I don't know, keep shooting at him? Let's see what happens."

He left, like if he was someone he was wasting time with, and left Spain snorting with rage.

But he didn't do it. When that night, the Maine blew up, killing two hundred and fifty six Americans, Spain was having dinner. His men had not done it because he had not given the orders and he knew his people wouldn't do something so risky without his consent. But America didn't believe it. Enraged, he declared war on him, and Spain was forced to face that young, developed, fearless nation.

He, old, tired, with little resources, was such a poor rival that many said he didn't even try.

In a matter of five months, Spain lost what he had left.

* * *

Spain gazed at the paper because he didn't want to look at America's satisfied smile. Or Puerto Rico's extreme confusion, finding himself being sold to America, when he was supposedly independent. Or Philippines' indignation ("You said you wanted nothing in exchange of your help!, he heard her say). Or Cuba's beautiful golden eyes.

"I don't have all day, you know?" America hurried him.

Spain closed his eyes, breathed deep, sank the quill in the bottle of ink and signed the paper.

As soon as it was signed, America snatched it from his hands.

"Well...This is a little embarrassing" he said. "I mean...Oh, forget it. You wouldn't get it. Alright, guys, let's go."

"No! You said...!" Philippines protested, and America sighed with annoyance.

"We will discuss this later. Now, don't make me force you..."

"Touch one hair on her head and I will slit you open like a pig..." Spain's grown, still not looking up, made everyone present freeze.

But America wasn't intimidated at all.

"You are in no disposition to give orders to anyone. Look at yourself...You'll be lucky if you can walk out of this room with no help. She belongs to me, so she will do as I say. You had your chance."

"I take no orders from you!" Philippines replied, and Cuba placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Come on, now, don't make things worse...For now...And you, America, behave."

"Just saying..." he shrugged, and walked out of the room, followed by Puerto Rico, who guessed he had no choice for the moment.

Philippines let go of Cuba's hand and left too, crossing her arms.

Cuba was the last to go, and Spain looked up to glance at him for the last time.

They first met in 1492, in a lonely beach. When he saw him, Spain thought he was the most beautiful child in the whole world, with his dark skin and those big golden eyes shining with the light of the sun.

When he last looked at those eyes, he felt life had lost all of its sense.

Cuba reluctantly left the room, leaving Spain crying more than anyone had ever seen him cry.

* * *

**1899**

* * *

Spain's presence was required in Baler. His heart skipped a beat when he heard the news. It brought him back to life. What was the matter with Philippines? Was she alright? Did America hurt her? If he dared, he could declare himself dead...

But no. The problem was not America. The problem were his own soldiers.

"They don't know our war ended time ago. They still think they are fighting against my people. They are making a mess. People from your house have come to them to make them understand, but they insist it is all false, a dirty trick..."

Spain gazed at her for so long Philippines sighed.

"I am alright..."

Spain then looked at the hanged body whose blood still dripped to the floor, with an uniform he recognized.

"...America is a lying bastard" she said.

Many people tried to keep Spain away from the place. Those madmen didn't listen to anybody.

"They will listen to me" he said to them.

Nobody was sure about that, but they let him approach.

As soon as he did, Spain received three shots in the chest. Behind him, his men gasped and ran to intervene, but Spain stopped them with a gesture of his hand. He was still standing. The man who show from the bell tower peeped out, not believing his eyes. He disappeared, Spain kept walking towards the church. The doors opened for him. A bunch of soldiers came to him encounter, aiming at him. 'They still think this is an excellent trick', Spain thought. Yes, his people were as stubborn as he was—or viceversa. So he guessed he had to show them. He opened his shirt to reveal a chest with three bleeding holes in it. There was no way that could be make up or some kind of artifice. Those were real flesh and real blood. He let them touch both.

When they realized, the men dropped their guns and bowed to him. None of them dared to speak.

"So it is you...Señor España..."

Spain turned to look at the highest authority in there: lieutenant Martín Cerezo, a bearded man.

"...I am really sorry, sir, I..."

"It is alright. I hope it is proof enough for you to see I am not an impostor...The war is over...It is really over..."

Martín Cerezo lowered his head.

"I...read one newspaper this morning...One friend of mine being destined to Málaga...There is no way the Filipinos could know that..."

Spain placed a hand on the man's shoulder.

"It is okay, lieutenant. There is nothing to be ashamed of. You followed the military code. And you have been very brave."

"...Thank you, sir..."

"No, thanks to you. You never surrendered..."

"Because I knew...I mean, I was sure those were lies. You wouldn't have just given up..."

Now it was Spain the one who couldn't look at the man to the face.

* * *

**Spain was not the empire he was once anymore but people still wanted to control him. President Prim, before being murdered, chose Amadeo I from Saboy to replace Isabella II. However, it turned out this king was very ephemeral because literally nobody wanted him, even though he was a good king. He had no one's support, probably for being a foreigner. So he had to abdicate and Spain went through its first Republic, which was also very brief, because the economic situation and political disputes made the country very unstable. It is during this time when Catalonia declares its independence—in the Hetalia universe, I like using as a reference jackce's design on Tumblr. **

**So, since the republic didn't work, the Bourbons were asked to come back, this time Isabella's son, Alfonso XII. He is most known for a song dedicated to him due to his depression after the loss of his first wife than what he achieved during his reign, very brief too, because he died of tuberculosis. His wife was pregnant when he died, so his son, Alfonso XIII, became king right after his birth. **

**It is at this moment when Puerto Rico's independence is recognized and Spain gets involved in a war against the United States after the USS Maine exploded, supposedly because of the Spaniards, when it was actually caused by a fire. USA helped both Cuba and Philippines because the country was growing and was starting to look for colonies to acquire. In a matter of months, they defeated Spain and we were forced to give up on our last colonies, even if Puerto Rico was theoretically independent and Philippines was assured she would have her independence respected. (I had in mind Namihazure-sama's design on DeviantArt for him).**

**I would say canon Hetalia exaggerates our relationship with Italy. It is true it was very influential back when Spain was an empire, but our baby has always been South America, and most concretely Cuba. Even though we lost Puerto Rico and Philippines too, this period is known for losing Cuba. This period is known as the 89 disaster and it was a depressing event for Spain. We were not an empire anymore. We lost our last possessions. We were nobody. We lost our dear Cuba. This was such a shock a generation of artists was born, formed by authors like Pío Baroja, Ramón del Valle Inclán, Azorín or Unamuno, who assumed the decadence of Spain and seeked its regeneration.**

**I end this chapter with a reference to the Siege of Baler, in which a platoon resisted the Philippines, not knowing the war had ended months before. Those men took refuge in a church and many died to ****illnesses, malnutrition and two deserters were executed. Out of 50, 30 survived, and got to kill 700 Filipinos. It wasn't until their leader read in a newspaper something about a friend of his that he was convinced that the war, as they were constantly being told, was over. According to the military code, soldiers cannot surrender until they make sure the messages are trustworthy. These men are known as the Last of Philippines, and have a monument in Madrid and a movie in which actor Lluis Tosar, our particular Bruce Willis, plays the role of Martín Cerezo. An actress who takes part of it, Alexandra Masangkay, is the person I took as a model when picturing Philippines.**


	20. Prelude to horror

**1909**

* * *

Paulino lit himself a cigarette and glanced at Spain.

"I really don't know what you're doing here, man."

Probably it was against so many social rules and protocols to call the nation 'man'. But Spain was with them, sleeping in the same fragile tents, shooting guns, eating the same crap, getting as dirty as them. He was one of them, so he thought he had the right to call him 'man'. Anyway, all things he had heard about Spain being some kind of god, unapproachable..., those were myths, he saw it when Spain walked around and talked to the soldiers as if he was not the highest authority there, but just one more.

"I mean, you should be in palace, eating like a pig, sleeping in a real bed, inaugurating shit. Not here, getting shot."

"What about you?" Spain smiled him back.

"Me? Eh. I'm poor. Cannon fodder. People like me have no better use. At least here we eat. Like shit, but at least they feed us. Back home, I had to go to charity every day to survive. I was about to go to Argentina when they called me."

Argentina...He kept her letter, assuring him that she would take care of the refugees, close to his heart. His baby Argentina...

"So is it better for you to be shot than dying of hunger?" Spain asked.

"I'm going to die young anyway, so..." Paulino expelled the smoke bitterly. "I would have refused it that was of any use. For my mother, you know. I know me being here, in danger, is killing her. That's why I send her letters every day, so she knows I'm alright. Dude, it really sucks, not having money to bribe someone...You know what happened in Barcelona, right?"

"Sure I know. I know everything."

"Right. Sometimes I forget you're not human..." Paulina got closer to him. "What's it like?"

"What?"

"That. Being a nation. That's so...freaky. How do you know...I don't know, what's happening in Barcelona, for instance."

Spain had not been asked that question much in his many centuries of life. It seemed people just accepted what he was, the same way nobody questioned God aloud. He was glad to explain. It would distract them from the heat.

"It feels like...well, it depends on the situation. When there is a plague you start feeling the symptoms but you can't infect other people, except another nation—you can't die from it, but it feels very close to dying. There was a time, back in the 12th century, when my heart stopped and all. Things like revolts, on the other hand...they bring me a pressure in the chest, like I need to cry. It's...like anxiety, yes. It leaves me so restless I can't do a damned thing."

"But how do you know it's something that's happening and not, I don't know, food poisoning or sleep deprivation?"

"It feels different, tougher...I don't think I can explain it."

"No, I think I got it. If that's true...I'm glad I'm just a man."

"Yeah, sometimes I wish I was. It has its perks, being a nation, not gonna lie, but there's always people telling you what to do, a long life which grants you lots of chances to do thing you'll regret..."

"Look at the bright side: the skirts are getting shorter—one day you'll see things any man would pay for, even if immortality is shit."

Spain chuckled, and almost chocked when a bullet blew off his hat.

"إسبانيا!" a female voice screamed in the distance.

"There she is, that bitch..." Spain muttered, grabbing his rifle and charging it. "Hey, Morocco! Did you have breakfast already?" he shouted as he shot.

* * *

**1912**

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. President!"

"Ah, good morning, Antonio!"

"Nice day for a walk, isn't it?"

"It sure is!"

"Have a nice day!"

Spain smiled at the way Marianita looked at Mr. Canalejas, the way he talked to Spain.

"I don't know why you are intimidated by him, he's so nice."

"He's the President..." she said.

"He's a nice fellow, I assure you. Look, Marianita, I have learned that in the end we are all equal: rich, poor, plebeians, kings, presidents—nations, too."

"Don't tell me you have been seduced by those Marxist ideas, señor Antonio."

"I have been reading a few books, just to know what the hullabaloo was about and...I must say I agree on one thing or two."

"You surprise me" Marianita seemed honestly shocked, she was so impressionable, the poor thing. "After what all those people have done to you, to all of us. Have you forgotten about our king's wedding, the massacre?"

"How could I forget? I remind you the bomb hit me. I was blown to smithereens. The queen had my blood all over her dress."

"Then how could you excuse them?"

"I do not excuse them. I just think most of what the workers are asking for is fair. Do you think I like being so poor?"

"Sure it is fair, but the methods they are using, and these ideas, removing all Government, rejecting all religion...Oh, I understand. They want you to be in charge. That is why you like them."

"That's absurd, come on. Look, the lower classes are not the enemy. Poverty, ignorance, sickness; those are. I do everything I can, but my hands are tied by..."

A shot made them stop. Spain protected Marianita in a reflex movement. A police officer ran to him.

"Mr. Spain! You have to get out of here at once!"

"What happened? I want to know!"

"No, you need to go, there might be more of them and could try to kill you too!"

"Take Miss López back to palace" Spain did not obey and ran to where people were heading, not listening to the cries of the policemen.

He broke through the human mass which contemplated the corpse of a young man whose brains were splattered on the wall, a gun in his hands. He then ran to Puerta del Sol.

Mr. Canalejas loved books. Sure he couldn't resist stopping on his way to work to take a look at the window of that book shop. It was the chance that man had taken advantage of to shoot him three times in the back. Not much longer, Spain was told he was an anarchist.

* * *

**1920**

* * *

"Look who's here! You do want to participate in games, huh?"

Romano was mad at him the last time he saw him, in Amberes, when Belgium hosted the Olympic Games. Spain knew his will not to intervene in the mess all of those countries had created would bring him trouble, but he was just in no condition to fight. He could barely have a normal life, with all those revolts and the hunger. Romano was not the only one who glared at him: Austria really seemed to expect help from his former husband. But it was alright. He had a nice time. It was nice, seeing the guys again. Also, it was a relief that Veneciano was way more forgiving.

"Don't listen to him, he is just a bit grouchy" he smiled at him.

"I know, no hard feelings" Spain smiled. "How are you, Italy? Is...everything alright?"

"Yes, yes. Well...My arm still hurts a lot. It regenerated after a grenade wrecked it. But...you know, it just takes time!"

"Sure."

"Good thing you were not there. War isn't what it used to be. We used to do this differently before. With swords...I don't know, it was closer. This time they used gas on us. I hate it, not being able to breathe...And staying in a trench for days feels so long, so unbearable..."

"But you guys won, right?"

"Yes, it was not nice, having to kick Austria's ass, but we did. Well...Now we are poor and we still haven't received what the others promised us...And those communists and anarchists..."

"It is scary, right? What happened to Russia..."

"It sure is. The bad thing is that Russia could come and do the same to us...But it is okay. There is this good man called Benito Mussolini, and a group of very nice fellows, who are trying to make things better at home. I am very hopeful about the future."

"That's the spirit, little brother" Spain smiled, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Italy chuckled. Sure, lots of things had happened between them, but Spain was sure there was nothing Veneciano or Romano could do he couldn't forgive.

* * *

**1923**

* * *

Spain was taught by the Scriptures that there were moments when one had to be patient and be confident in God's will. But that captain, Miguel Primo de Rivera, was so outraged by what was happening to him he delivered a coup d'etat. Spain was scared at first, but Primo de Rivera tried to earn his trust:

"I love you, Spain. I have always loved you. That is why I had to do this. It hurts me to see you this way. You are spending all your money and energy on this war against Morocco, and these communists and anarchists are plotting to destroy you. Every day there is a new murder. I am not waiting with my arms crossed for someone to destroy you!"

His discourse was so passionate Spain had to assure him it was alright. In fact, it felt nice, to have someone who cared so much about him. Alfonso, understanding, made him the only minister and allowed him to dissolve the Parliament, suspend the Constitution and declare state of war. It was...all for the best, right?

And so Catalonia saw how her anthem, any symbol related to her was completely forbidden and the Spanish Patriotic Union became the only party in the country. Primo de Rivera was tough, but he accomplished so many things. Thanks to his support, Spain won the war against Morocco, who had to surrender to France.

"That Rivera is doing well, right? I see you look better" Alfonso observed, both of them relaxing in the living room.

"Mhm."

"What are you reading?"

"An essay, by Victoria Kent."

"What is is about?"

"Women. How little rights they have."

"Huh..."

"No, it's actually quite interesting..."

* * *

**1927**

* * *

Alfonso couldn't help smiling at Spain's face. In an attempt to comfort him, he took his hand.

"I'm not sure I want to do this..." the nation muttered.

"Relax. It's all under control" his king replied.

"How can a thing this big fly? It's just beyond reason..."

"I don't know how it works exactly, but it does."

Spain closed his eyes and started muttering. Alfonso thought it was a prayer, but it was actually a poem.

_«La luna vino a la fragua / con su polisón de nardos / El niño la mira mira / El niño la está mirando...»_

Poor Spain, trying to distract himself from what was going on trying to recite that poem by heart. But when the plane started moving, he yelped and Alfonso felt he was going to break his hand.

A few minutes had to pass until the plane stabilized. Truth be told, he also felt quite nervous, even if he had people around him assuring him everything was going just fine.

Spain finally opened his eyes and breathed deep. Although he knew he would regret it, he looked through the window.

"_¡Dios mío!_ We are in the clouds! Those are the clouds! Look, Alfonso! The clouds! We are flying like birds!"

His fear turned into excitement. First those carriages which were not moved by horses, now this. He remembered his friend Paulino and what he said, and felt more excited than ever to be alive.

* * *

**1931**

* * *

Spain waited the news trying to distract himself in vain.

Primo de Rivera turned out to be a disaster. Maybe it was his fault; maybe he was too much of a mess to be saved, but the thing is, Primo de Rivera was forced to resign, and now that man in the government, Berenguer, if he was not mistaken, was preparing something big.

But he had these feelings inside. Something big was coming indeed, but he wasn't sure of what. Alfonso...He hoped it all turned alright. He couldn't stop thinking of what happened to Tsar Nikolai Romanov and his family. The change of regime didn't respect him, and in the end he, his wife, his children and his servants were taken to a room and with the excuse of taking a photo...

It was around lunch time when Alfonso finally showed up. Seeing the look on the faces of everyone who came with him, Spain sensed what the result was.

"...People have spoken. You are a republic now."

Spain gazed at Alfonso for long.

"And Mr. Alcalá Zamora has suggested me that I left the country before sunset, so, I must hurry..."

He walked away and Spain, after a second of shock, followed him.

"But..."

Alfonso turned to him with a smile.

"It's alright, Antonio. I value you more than the throne. If that is the general will, I shall leave. I don't want any disputes. I love you and that is why I am leaving you."

They didn't have much time to say goodbye. They had to pack so many things. A whole life...Spain wished they had had the time to talk, to have a last beer together, to...How did that happen? He thought things were alright!

He couldn't believe it, when the due time came and Alfonso had to go through the door and never come back.

"I will call you when I get to Marseille."

"Please, do. I...I'm going to miss you so much..."

"Goodbye, Antonio. Good luck."

"Thanks. You too."

They embraced, and Spain couldn't believe what was happening...It felt surreal, seeing him go, and finding himself alone again in that big palace.

Back to Las Ramblas, he guessed...

* * *

"I guess...This makes everything alright, doesn't it?"

Catalonia, sat with her legs crossed in front of him, gazed at him with an expression he couldn't decipher.

"The conditions seem...acceptable" she finally said, leaning back in the sofa.

"I want you to know that you are like a sister to me, and, I will treat you as such."

"I don't know. You don't know a very clean history concerning your siblings."

"I...well, I didn't know better at that time, but I am different. I swear. Time gives you lots of perspective, I assure you."

"Hm."

Catalonia sat correctly and continued to look at him like there was nothing else in that café.

"You still have it better. New government, new constitution."

"Yes. They are going to make me sovereign."

"How important..."

"I will try to intercede so you gain rights."

"Can I trust you?"

"Of course."

"I don't know..."

"I know what I have done in the past, but, please, I want to do things right this time, okay?"

But there were still things he couldn't control.

Three days after their interview, in a visit to his friend Pablo in Málaga, he was informed that there was something he had to see. The church of his friend's town was in ruins. Just a jumble, which would crumble as soon as the wind started to blow. However, people still wandered around the remains, seeing if there was something that could be saved.

Pablo started to cry, biting his fist.

"Sons of bitches...Those fucking sons of bitches...Motherfucking red atheists..."

Spain knew his friends was very devout. He always carried with him a card of the patron virgin. But the wooden statue had been destroyed in the fire, as well as the paintings on the walls, the altar, the crucifix...Everything. Everything at all...According to what Spain heard, the fire was provoked early in the morning, while everybody was sleeping. The flames could be seen kilometers away. The priest could barely escape on time.

Provoked. Because this was not an accident.

"Why are you on their side, Antonio? How can you be friends with these people?" Pablo kept weeping.

"I...Dear God, Pablo, I never wanted this...This is as disgusting to me as it is for you..." was Spain's response.

He knew the government had nothing to do, but...at that moment, seeing—feeling the loss that town had suffered, he really didn't know what to think anymore.

* * *

"Just one argument: even if you don't want to and if you admit the feminine incapacity, you vote with half of your incapable being. Me and all women I represent want to vote with our masculine half, because there is no degeneration of sexes, because all of us are children of a man and a woman and equally receive the two parts of our being, argument the biologists have developed. We are product of two beings; there is no possible incapacity from you to me, nor from me to you."

From his seat, Spain listened in awe to congresswoman Clara Campoamor. Wow, was that woman fascinating...

"I, ladies and gentlemen, feel a citizen more than a woman and I consider it would be a deep mistake to leave the women out of this right, the woman who waits and trusts you; the woman who, as happened to other new forces during the French revolution, was undeniably a new force which is incorporated to right and there is nothing that can be done but push her to continue her way. Reject it if you want; you are free to do so, but only in virtue of a right you have held, because you have laws to yourselves; but not because you have the natural right to leave the woman out."

Like many, Spain stood up to clap when she finished. And then the people started voting, he scratched the table nervously. He saw many Republicans voting no, and Mrs. Kent and Mrs. Nelken too. But the result was clear. 161 against 131. Women could now vote.

Upon hearing the news, Spain's friend Alicia made a fuss, letting out a scream and hugging his nation.

"We did it! We did it!"

But Spain was so happy too that he didn't try to stop her and hugged and cheered too, instead.

"You see? Republic is good!" Alicia said to him, kissing his lips. How indecent, many people in the room thought. But Spain didn't care. That day, his feminine side felt more intense than ever.

* * *

**1933**

* * *

The Republic didn't want a democracy. They wanted a revolution similar to the one Russia had embraced, so they recurred to every measure possible for Spain to overcome his hesitations and accept the ideas which, they said, would make him great again. They made him read a lot of books, talk to certain people they said were erudite and wise. Each faction of the left in his house had its own ideas and referents and wanted him to accept them, but Spain wasn't sure of who to listen, the socialists, the anarchists, the communists...He wasn't even sure that their ideas were that good, after all. What happened to Russia was something no nation in the world wanted to go through. He did agree with some of them but he was hesitant.

Also, the revolution was not only intellectual. That was a reason not to trust these ideas.

His Catholic faith was being questioned like he would have never seen before. Had he listened to any of those claims he was starting to hear often, he would have grabbed his axe and beheaded a few people, but now, now he could only gaze as the government allowed churches to be burned to the ground and their men of the cloth chased, while they, thanks to the law, forbade them to keep teaching in schools, stole their properties and even forbade mass at some times. He knew of some kings of the past who would not have been pleased at all by all this. They were surely rolling in their graves, asking themselves why Spain didn't do anything about it.

But what could he do? Wasn't that what his people wanted?

He didn't know...He had ears...He heard things, rumors...That it didn't matter what people voted, the Republic would destroy any chance of center and right parties to get representation. Like a dictatorship.

Riots started to become daily news. The bad thing about it was that said protests were not pacific. Spain could feel in his guts the amount of people who were killed and the properties, there was no need for the government to lie to him—he knew. At the end of the day, he found out.

His head hurt all the time, he found himself unable to think at times. Too much thinking, surely. That was why he needed moments like these, when he didn't think at all. When he forgot about the Republic, the monarchists, the bombs, the churches burning, the Bolshevist taking control of Russia's destiny and rotting his mind (perhaps saving him?), what Germany was doing in Europe, with that new leader of his, that man with a Charlie Chaplin-like mustache called 'Adolfo' Hitler.

He didn't want to think of anything.

He just wanted to know what that big ape in the screen was going to do with the blond lady he had captured.

* * *

**1936**

* * *

Spain refused the snack President Azaña offered him with a hand on his stomach.

"Oh...You still don't feel well, huh?" Azaña told him.

Spain shook his head.

"I haven't felt good in a while, honestly..."

"Yes, you are not fooling anyone. You are going through so much, why don't you go to the cinema, go on holidays, and...?"

"I've tried. I've done all of that already. But it still hurts."

"Sure...It is those nationalists...They claim to love you, to protect you, and look what they are doing to you."

"What happened in Asturias was not done by the nationalists..."

"That was two years ago, when are you going to forget about that."

'It is so easy for you to say; you don't feel the pain of all the people who are murdered...', Spain thought.

"Look, Spain, what Lerroux did...That has nothing to do with us. Not all of us Republicans are rascals like him...We are going to do so many great things."

"How are you going to do that, if you don't agree with one another?" Spain sighed.

"Spain, I don't want to think you are on their side..."

"I am on no one's side. I just want you guys to pull yourself together. I want this feeling to end...All the murders, all the attacks, the protests..."

Azaña sighed. Of course, he didn't understand he couldn't just intervene in someone's favor. He wasn't sure of what he needed, of who were the good guys in that picture...He was so confused...

It was then when they came.

Spain was frankly surprised when someone knocked at the door and, when he peeked through the peephole, he saw familiar faces. He opened the door to find Germany, Prussia, Veneciano and Romano there.

"Hi, Spain!" Veneciano smiled at him.

"May we come in? We would like to talk to you."

Of course, Spain allowed them to come in and get themselves comfortable. Since they were already there..., and he was intrigued, too.

"Nice house" Romano commented. "Did you mamma decorate it?"

Spain chuckled. He then observed their uniforms, but particularly Germany's and Prussia's. After what he had heard, that the two of them became exceedingly poor after the Great War.

"We came because we heard the situation here is very complicated" Germany spoke.

Spain nodded.

"And you know why is that, right?" Prussia said, pausing to drink from the beer Spain had served him. "Those fucking commies in your government."

"I don't know...These days it seems like everyone is a walking bomb, lately..." Spain replied.

"Nah, I'm telling you, those people are the worst. All they do is ruin everything, step on values like it's shit. They are a pest."

"But we came to help you" Veneciano smiled.

"To help me?" Spain blinked.

"Yes. Europe is looking at you, Spain" Germany said. "What you are going through is what happens when you let the communists govern."

"It hurts to bad, right?" Prussia gazed at him with those red eyes, as if they pierced through his skull and reached his brain.

"Let's go to the point, okay?" Romano said then. "Listen, you have to make a decision. Join us and we will help you get rid of that problem, okay?"

"You don't need to give us an answer now, of course" Veneciano said in his sweet and calm tone of voice.

"We just want you to know that nobody is going to move a finger to help you...But we will be there to help" Germany said.

Spain looked at the four nations not sure of what to say.

* * *

_"This man has pronounced his last discourse in this Parliament!"_

Mrs. Ibarruri's words echoed in Spain's head when he read the headlines of the newspaper that morning. Minister Calvo Sotelo had been murdered, and everybody knew who did it: republican officers, because their Socialist colleague had been killed by the left wing. Eye for an eye, surely.

Spain knew Calvo Sotelo, but hadn't talked much to him. Still, his murder left a very uncomfortable feeling in his chest, like...like...

Four days later, he found out what that meant. In the Canary islands, that general people had been talking about lately, Francisco Franco, claimed he would free the nation from the claws of those 'murderers' once and for all.

* * *

**I put this fanfic in no category but now I have made it a drama because, holy cow, thinking with perspective our history is really dark. And we got to the part Spanish people nowadays can tell you first-hand: the Civil War. **

**Where did the Civil War come from? We have seen that in the 19th century the distinction between right and left was created and it is now when the society became polarized. At the beginning of the century, Spain was practically a third-world country, with a very short life expectancy due to economy and health problems, increased by war against Morocco (it is referenced a great repression happening in Catalonia, because the men sent to fight were always from lower classes). In such conditions, Spain couldn't participate in World War I, of course, and stayed neutral, but suffered shortage anyway. It wasn't until Primo de Rivera delivered a coup d'etat when things started to get a bit better, but the government was unstable and he was forced to leave. Instability was the main problem at the time. During this period, two presidents were murdered, the one referenced being Canalejas and the other Dato, killed by anarchists in 1921.**

**What now? Elections were held out and it was a victory for the republicans. King Alfonso XIII elegantly abdicated and parted to France on the same day, wishing to save the Spanish nation trouble. But the Second Republic suffered a great fragmentation, and the situation wasn't better for the society. Very violent repressions took place, like the miners in Asturias and in the town of Casas Viejas, this one with political consequences, which were the rise of far-right parties. Also, the republicans had earned the hate of the conservative population due to the attacks to many ecclesiastic buildings and diminishing their power so the Parliament was formed exclusively by different shades of left ideology who wanted to start a revolution similar to the one taking place in Russia. Let us remember the Spanish people have traditionally been very religious, and the republic deprived the Church from lots of power. On the positive side, it is now when women earned the right to vote, in 1931, being the first Latin country to do it (curiously, the left wing, including important figures such as Victoria Kent didn't want it because they argued women would be too conditioned by their husbands or the Church).**

**Fascism was starting to lurk, and everything exploded when the monarchic minister Calvo Sotelo was murdered in revenge of the killing of a socialist policeman by right wing people. Franco, general Mola and others were already plotting against the Republic and it accelerated the start of the uprising...Spain's darkest hour.**

**Cultural references in this chapter: the first travel by plane, done by king Alfonso XIII from Madrid to Barcelona, when Spain recites a poem by an extremely popular poet of this time, Federico García Lorca (who was killed in 1936 because of his supposed political inclinations—his corpse has not been found to this day). Also, the movie Spain watches is no other than _King Kong_.**

**Also, it is mentioned that king Alfonso suffered an attack in 1906, when an anarchist threw him a bomb hidden in a flower bouquet, during a parade with him and his wife, killing 25 people. There is a famous photography of this instant.**


	21. Spain against Spain

When they opened the vault, Spain didn't know what to think, if the ingots before him were a big quantity or not, taking into account he had been alive for like two millenniums. Because that was what that gold represented: his fortune. The money he had made in all of those years, what he had amassed with his sweat and blood—and the sweat and blood of others.

He had to be witness, so no one could say it was some kind of trickery. Thus, he saw how the minister's men emptied the space. 510 tons of gold, which would be moved to Cartagena instantly.

Following the Republic's orders, Spain had had a meeting with America, France and England to ask for weapons to be used against the rebels. France seemed to be collaborative, he promised to deliver. But then he changed his mind all of a sudden. Things were complicated in Europe. Fascism and communism were spreading and the nations often found themselves forced to take a side. Democracies and dictatorships were on the verge of war. Supporting openly any side in that issue would bring an imbalance which would affect all of Europe negatively. England agreed and formed a committee which managed to convince the continent not to get involved. That was Spain's matter. Not theirs.

Spain couldn't say he was surprised. After centuries, he expected no sympathy from those two...

But there were nations who signed the document but didn't just look away.

The Axis Powers had made the promise to be there for Spain if he needed them and were men of their word. Portugal managed to convince his boss, Salazar, that Spain had to be freed from the government that was killing him.

And the Republic found a friend in Soviet Russia and Mexico.

The Committee was boycotting their provision of weapons, but did nothing to stop Germany's and Italy's troops. They had to find support, and it came from where Spain would have never suspected.

"I have not forgotten what you did, but...I don't want you to become a fascist pig like them" hearing Mexico's voice again thanks to the telephone, the tone of her voice, brought chills to Spain's body. "I will send you anything you need. I am with you, Spain. If you want me to go there..."

"No...No, _mi niña_...You stay in America. It will be better if you stay..."

He didn't want her to see how bad he looked after so many days barely sleeping...

As for Russia...

"They are cowards. I expected much more from England, to be honest" at the port, Russia looked at the sky as if he was surprised not to see snow coming from it. "He thinks this way he will not anger Germany and things will be better...As if Germany needed any excuse...They will let you die. They will let you rot and go mad and they will do nothing to stop it. Well, if you think about it, it is better that they don't intervene—they tried to suffocate the revolution and all they did was to give the Bolsheviks more arguments in their favor."

Spain was not looking at him, but at the numerous wooden boxes which were taken inside of the four ships Russia had brought. The giant leaned towards him and opened his shirt a bit. He then clicked his tongue.

"How long have you been having this?"

"Two months..."

"Hm."

Russia looked at his ships too.

"I can give you part of the weapons and some tanks now, the rest should come in a few months. As for the receipt...I will do the inventory at home and send you the document, okay?"

"Okay...Thanks, Russia..."

"My pleasure. Everything will be alright, you will see."

"And...the children..."

"I am already on it. You can start sending them to my house."

"Thank you..."

Later that month, his boss Stalin published that Russia's wealth was increased and it was all thanks to the success of communism. Spain never received the receipt.

* * *

Right the next day, he was covering his mouth in order to repress a retching.

The man by his side lit a cigarette. Expelling the smoke, he smirked and pointed at the scene with a nod.

"Do you see, Mr. Spain? This is what happens when those reds get the power..."

That nun had probably been dead for one or two years, seeing her state. Her eyes were gone and her mouth with no lips was open. Someone had dug her out to place her against a wall. Only God knew what they had done to her...

"Those bastards respect nothing..." the man grunted, and the smoke of his cigarette was all Spain needed to run away from the scene and vomit among some bushes.

Luciana walked to him and placed a hand on his back.

"Are you alright, Antonio?" she asked with sweet voice.

Spain panted. No. But he nodded.

"Come on, I can't stand looking at this either..."

Also, Pablo was waiting. He was probably worried about their delay.

Spain knew him since he was thirty-six, when he had the honor to serve Alfonso XIII, Spain and the royal family as their cook. Spain missed his confectionery so, so much. But, as he used to say, 'the oven was not ready for buns'—he was not there to taste his delicious meals and Pablo was not in the mood for cooking. When he lost his job due to Alfonso's abdication, he went back to his native town, Cereixo. Spain had been told by the Republican government it was not wise to leave their protection, but seeing how Madrid was getting ready for the bombings, Spain felt there was no safe place at all. He wanted to see his old friend. He needed to see him. At that moment...perhaps it was all he needed. The atmosphere in Madrid made him so nervous. All those «Madrid's bear will destroy fascism», «Rise against Italian invasion in Spain!», «The only party of the proletariat will crush fascism», «They shall not pass»—it felt so unnerving.

"The bad thing is the priest has to be lucky he was out of town when that happened" Pablo explained to him while his sister Luciana served him a cup of coffee. "In Vilar they raped five nuns, then killed them..."

"You can't be serious..." Spain muttered.

"You know when things are wrong, what are your feelings telling you?"

"...I don't know...All I want is to scream, lately..."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'm glad to know you're alright. I'm trying to get in touch with old friends, see if...check on them, you know. Martina is safe, Martín sailed to Argentina. Juan...Poor Juan was drafted forcefully and they killed him in Badajoz...Honorato too, in the siege of Toledo—that boy was, what? Eighteen?"

"Yes...I am fine, but it is just a matter of time. One of these days these bastards will come and, do you know what they will do? They will dig a grave for the two of us. They will rape Luciana here and shoot her in the head. And I'm not going to let those sons of bitches hurt her. I won't let them get you, either. They banished our king, they have ruined you, and, fuck, I've had enough. I am going to join Mola's troops. Luciana here wants me to go to France with her, but I was born in this country and if I have to die, I will die here."

"Pablo, I don't want you to die for me...Please, listen to your sister."

"No, Antonio. I made up my mind seeing that they don't even respect the dead, what is the most sacred thing, even more sacred than any church or ideology. They are animals who should be exterminated. I won't let them control you any longer. You deserve happiness, Antonio, and if I have to die trying, at least I will die for something worth it. I hope my blood will make you stronger."

That was the last time Spain saw Pablo. Eleven weeks later, he got a letter from Luciana, in Niza, in which he told him Pablo had fallen fighting the republican troops in Vigo. Pablo's sacrifice didn't make him feel greater—but weaker.

* * *

«Spain: One, Great, Free». «Long live the rescue army; for God and for Spain; glory to martyrs and heroes». «Communism sows death; Franco defeats it in the battlefield!». «First Crusade; Spain, spiritual guiding of the world». «After this, how fine Spain will turn out!».

Spain, in the bathtub, closed his eyes and focused. In the silence of the room, only the drops falling from his soaked hair to the water could be heard. He could read their minds, feel that they were feeling. There was hope. This revolution was the light at the end of the tunnel. The Republic had failed them, had left them unprotected, had damaged their dear Antonio; the rebels would bring back all the good things lost. They would give back to Spain the honor they had taken away from him.

But if he kept looking into himself, he found even more voices. He found fear for what was happening and what was going to come.

They were so intense, so contradictory, so...indescribable...The bath didn't help him feel better.

When he got up and, naked, walked to the mirror, he saw the mark on his neck, barely a freckle when he first saw it, was not the size of his fist. But there was more. When he grabbed a towel and glanced at his stomach, he saw the same thing where humans had their navel. A dark spot, the size of a cigarette pack.

Was it an ulcer? Lupus?—Or something worse?

* * *

Lleida was on the republican side for the moment, so Spain had no trouble going there. In any case, he had been fighting for enough centuries to know how to sneak into a city without being detected. And if something happened, he was the nation. Nobody would do any harm to him. Still, he tried to make his entry as discreet as he could. He was not in the mood for military tactics. He...hadn't felt decently good in a long time. Migraines made him want to go back to smoking. He was taking pills, instead. His doctor said they would help him. But he still felt unable to think much.

He had Paulino's address written in a paper. He hoped he hadn't moved in all these years. As he had been told in his letters, he had not gotten married and still cared for his widow mother, just like when he was young. He had a stable job repairing cars. He had to be there, in Lleida.

"Paulino?"

When he arrived, there was no light inside of the house.

"Paulino? Mrs. Gómez?" he knocked again with his fists.

A lady stopped her bicycle a few meters away from him.

"¡Ay, hijo! Don't waste your time. Nobody will answer!" she said.

"Do you know where Paulino Gómez is?" Spain walked to her.

"Who knows! My son sent me a letter the other day from the front. Paulino was in the same regiment. His mother was sick, you see? Apparently, he tried to escape to see her. He was talking often about her. His superiors caught him and shoot him dead for deserting."

Spain felt his throat burning upon hearing the worst news possible. Paulino...He survived the war in Africa to be killed by his own folks...

"What about his mother? Maybe I could..."

"Ah! Poor Antonia! What do you expect an old lady like her, sick, bound to her bed, with her son fighting in the front, to do but die? At least she passed before her son was killed. She would have died from grief..."

She squinted suddenly, approaching him.

"Would you mind coming to the light? You...look familiar..."

Spain ran away instead.

* * *

The relative calm of the morning was broken when the siren started wailing.

"Come on, come on!"

"Hurry up!"

Around him, everybody was running, carrying their children in their arms, helping the elders who inevitably were left behind, not bothering to grab anything, because nothing was that valuable as their lives at that moment.

"Run! There they are!"

Spain was still running down the steps to the subway station when the first bomb exploded.

Two. Two people dead.

In front of him a little girl was bawling and her father couldn't say anything comforting to her because he was terrified too.

Two more bombs. Seven.

Spain's legs failed him and he tripped. A man with a long, white beard helped him stand up.

"Come on, son, you're safe now!"

Yes, all those people were safe, but every time a bomb fell, the ceiling shook and dust and small rubble fell on their heads.

Spain was not safe there.

"We are leaving to Valencia, pack your things, Antonio. These savages are going to destroy Madrid if it's necessary to find and get you!" his President would tell him next time he saw him.

He was safe nowhere.

Fourteen. Twenty-one. Thirty...He could not count them all!

* * *

**1937**

* * *

He was told he was in no condition to travel, but he wanted to. He needed to see what was going on.

Back in Valencia, the republican army had intercepted messages from the enemy. They talked about destroying a certain nation. They were after Catalonia and there was someone else who threatened Spain's unity. Basque Country.

He had one more brother or sister. He had to see them. He had to make sure they were alright.

He arrived to the town of Guernica the morning of April 26th.

He was observing what they called Gernikako Arbola, Basque's symbolic tree, trying to imagine his sibling taking care of it with love, when someone approached him.

"Mr. Spain?"

Spain turned around to find a familiar face.

"Marianita..."

It was her. Twenty five years had passed and she was not a young girl anymore, but it was still her. She was a full woman, pushing a baby carriage, with four more children of different ages around her. Her smile was starting to show wrinkles, but she still had that pretty smile...

"Oh! It's been so long!"

Her smile faded when Spain approached her having to support himself on a cane, and still walking with difficulty, as if his muscles were too rigid to move. His hug felt so weak...

"Indeed" Spain smiled. Not even the smile looked like it used to. "Wow, you still got it..."

Marianita giggled bashfully.

"I see you married that guy in the end...What was his name? Imanol?"

"No. He was a jerk. But thanks to him I met Salvador and..." she turned her head to her children with a smile.

"Congrats."

"Thanks...What are you doing in here?"

"Family matters."

"Ah, I see..."

She didn't think it was appropriate to ask the question, but he looked so bad she couldn't resist. She still cared for him, just like when she was his maid.

"How are you, Mr. Spain? Are they...hurting you too much?"

Spain tried to laugh.

"Who is they, I wonder..." he sighed.

"Who's this, mother?" a girl, barely eight, asked.

"This is the Republic of Spain. Oh, children, aren't you going to say hello to him? He is a very important person."

"Hello, Mr. Spain" those children immediately said, even the two year-old.

"It's a pleasure meeting you. Wow, Marianita, you made something really beautiful..." Spain smiled.

"If what you are doing is not very urgent, can I ask you to stay for lunch?" Marianita asked.

"It'd love to. I am dying to meet the lucky guy who won your heart."

"Andrés, help Mr. Spain."

"No, it's alright, the cane does the trick."

They walked, and Marianita had the chance to see he could barely move, but he tried. God, did he try...

"...Do you know, by chance, Basque Country? The...nation, I mean."

"I don't believe he exists. It is just..."

"So you've heard of him..."

"...I haven't seen him personally, if that's what you're asking, but...I've seen pictures of him. I don't know if those were recreations or...But..."

"Do you know where I can find him?"

"I don't know. As I've told you, I am not even sure he exists."

"He does. I can feel it. That's why I need to see him. They say they are an obstacle, a mistake...I just want to talk to him and tell him..."

Tell him what? Spain wasn't very sure. But that was not the reason why he didn't finish the sentence.

That cursed sound made the whole population freeze and Spain's heart stop.

"Oh, no..." Marianita muttered. "Children, now we have to run, okay? Amelia, grab your siblings, Mr. Spain...!"

Spain was already feeling it, the terror...

People around them dropped everything in their hands and started running to the refuges. Some tried to make their animals move, but they were braying, terrified by the sirens. The bells of the church started ringing frenetically. 'Everyone to the refuges!', a policeman cried.

It was then when the first bomb dropped.

One woman blown into pieces. Spain didn't see it. He felt it like if it had been him.

They were in mortal danger. That was why it was the moment to pray. Many people tried to find the words while running to the church, to the town hall...Spain felt his rosary around his neck, but couldn't grab it.

He raised his head to the sky and saw five planes flying above them, dropping the projectiles...

The cane slipped from his hand. New explosions. Three. One of them was a baby, which couldn't be taken from his crib on time.

"Here! Here, come on!" Marianita grabbed him, practically pushed him, because he barely moved, under a carriage. It was the only place they could go. Buildings were crumbling around them.

Bombs kept falling like a rain of fire. A young man, around twenty, stopped his track to turn around and look at the planes with his face red with fury.

"_¡CABRONES! ¡MALPARIDOS HIJOS DE PUTA! ¡CABRONEES!"_ he shouted at them as loud as his lungs allowed him.

One of those planes flew lower and started to strafe the fleeing people. They got a woman who was running along with her elder father and then the boy's chest was filled with bullets, silencing him.

"Mommy! Mommyyy!" one of Marianita's children, a chubby six-year old, howled.

"Close your eyes and cover your head with your hands, Fabián!" she instructed him. She was crying out of fear. If one of those bombs fell near them, the carriage wouldn't protect them. She couldn't assure him everything would be alright.

Not that being inside of a building guaranteed anything. Marianita was seeing it: the planes flew closer to the ground to shoot at the people, they forced them to go into the buildings, and there...they bombed.

Some were flying so low a neighbor called Saturnino Amor would declare many decades later that he was capable of seeing a man with white hair and red eyes controlling one of them.

The facade of the church was falling apart. Inside, the priest wanted to scream too, but he started praying for everyone inside instead. God, have mercy on us, greet us in your infinite glory...

Many people were running to the fields, trying to escape from the town, and the planes followed them. They were an easy target for their machine guns. Three. Six. Eight.

"Help me! Help me!" someone cried.

After one bomb fell, nobody cried anymore.

They waited. Several minutes passed. The zooming of the planes, the bombs, were not heard anymore. But they couldn't be sure. They waited a bit more. It wasn't until they heard people outside and saw their feet moving slowly that they were convinced it was over.

"It's over...It's over, children...It's okay, it's over..." Marianita wept, kissing the heads of her children.

They got out from their hideout. Marianita helped Spain get up.

She saw him look around him. At the rubble at their feet. At the blood staining it. At the skeletons of the buildings. At the people looking around, some of them in shock, others filled with blood, not only theirs, calling someone they knew. The corpses, human and animal, buried in the debris, lying in all sorts of postures, crushed, shot.

She saw him drop on his knees, grabbing the sides of his head to scratch them until blood started to come out.

Everyone around heard his scream, which faded, faded, faded, as air left his lungs until it simply ceased, and no more sounds came out from his throat.

* * *

_«The worldwide Jewish and Masonic press and Valencia's hypocrite mourners threw their arms up in horror before the leader, whose name as clean as our sky they tried to smear with the drool of their libelous information. The photographic camera which cannot lie to you tells it clearly that such destruction was the deed of incendiaries and dynamiters.»_

Spain was there. Dear God, Spain was there.

However, the Francoist side couldn't have gotten better propaganda. The Republicans had destroyed one of their own towns and almost got their own nation killed. Spain had suffered terribly, he was traumatized by the event.

_«We will destroy the Republic before they destroy our dear Antonio»_

Veneciano turned his head to Romano. He avoided looking at him.

"...We only did what we had to do..." he said.

It was not his fault Spain was in the wrong place...Stupid Spain...It was his fault...There was no one to blame but him...

* * *

**1939**

* * *

He was the one who opened the door. Before coming in, he stared at the figure sitting on a wheelchair, near the window. As if a bit of fresh air and the views could break him out of that state. He was aware of what the republican doctors had tried in order to bring him back, all therapies possible, including electroshock.

Franco approached him and crouched down to touch his chin. Spain didn't move. He didn't blink, or even look at him.

"Look what they did to you..."

He sighed, afflicted by that sight.

"My poor Spain...Don't worry. I am here. And I am going to help you. You will feel better, and I am going to make you big again."

* * *

Germany stopped in front of that big painting in gray. His bright blue eyes inspected every inch of the canvas, studied every line like an art critic would. The Führer despised modern art, he said it was decadent, Jewish, but he was also formed in arts, maybe in a deeper way than him, and found this piece interesting.

The author was near him. His officer had recognized and approached him.

"Did you do this?"

France turned his head to that man, of big nose and wide forehead. The way he looked at the German and glanced for a second at his nation, before answering:

"No. You did."

France then observed his work.

Some attendants called it a mess. There were figures mixed with no harmony, a style too modern for the taste of many. A woman grieving the corpse of her child in her arms. A dismembered soldier, sword still in hand, at the feet of a braying horse, ran through by a sort of spear. A man with his hands raised to the sky. A house on fire. A seemingly impassible bull. A wounded woman who was bleeding and dragging her leg. An eye, with a light bulb replacing the pupil, contemplating everything from above...

It was then when France couldn't gaze at it any longer and walked away, feeling tears coming out.

* * *

**If there is something one cannot talk about in Spain nowadays is the Civil War. Everybody has lost someone in that war, there are still people alive who went through it. The gal writing these lines had a great-grandfather whose fate inspired what happened to Spain's fictional friend Paulino. There are tons of people whose body are still in common graves, whose descendants are still looking for. And the bad thing is that, even if the general opinion is that it was a good republicans being slaughtered by the mean nationalists, the republicans also committed atrocities, the best known being against members of the church and people related to them. What is depicted here comes from documentaries but also stories I have heard from people around me, happening to relatives of theirs. Take a side, just speak about it and someone will hate you. A very controversial and recent law is erasing all memory of the regime in the streets, the names of the heroes of Franco's side in the signs, the statues and symbols, and last year Franco's corpse was moved out of the mausoleum of the Valley of the Fallen, constructed to celebrate their victory, alleging that we can't keep honoring a dictator. **

**Foreign countries intervened, more or less in the conflict. Russia and Mexico were supporters of the republicans. On the other hand, the Axis and Portugal supported the rebels, Italy and Germany participating directly in the war with troops. **

**The sad thing, knowing Spain's closeness to Romano in canon and Prussia with the Bad Touch Trio, to know it was them the ones who bombed the town of Guernica. Mostly the Germans. Why did they bomb a town which was not worth it? The Germans wanted to try their weapons for the upcoming world war. The town has the symbol of the Basque Country (my reference is Los-Ticos' design on DeviantArt), the Tree of Guernica. Also, the destruction was used as propaganda, because Franco claimed the Republic bombed the city and blamed them. Anyway, it was the first time a town was bombed in such a way (80% of the buildings were destroyed, around 130-300 people were killed) in History. It inspired our famous painter Pablo Picasso to paint _Guernica_, a commission by the Republic to call international attention on the war. And it seems they did it, because it made a tour all around the war and today it is considered an icon which depicts the horrors of war, no matter the time period (did you know the figure of the man with his hands to the sky inspired the symbol of peace?). If you ever go to Madrid, it is exhibited in the Reina Sofía Museum. It is really impressive. And what Picasso says to the German officer at the ****International Exposition of Art and Technology in Modern Life is apparently real.**

**I chose fanart related to this picture because I also think it is a great representation of Spain's ghosts: the slaughter caused all around the world, the constant wars against allies, the repression, the civil wars...The author, MoonyLoony, has in their profile two versions, both of them are great.**

**About Russia's intervention, it was also very controversial. It is said that the Republic gave the gold of the country to the Soviet to keep it safe, and used part of it to buy weapons, but apparently Russia kept it and played dumb. It is what we call Moscow's Gold. There is also the Children of Russia. Of course, thousands of Spaniards left the country, some to France, where they were trapped in World War II (some of them fought), some to Mexico and other countries of South America, and many children were taken to Russia. The sad thing is that there the authorities forgot about many of them and they had to survive on their own. Some came back after the war, others, after Franco's death; some stayed there forever. **

**As for what happens to Spain here, my headcanon is that civil wars are the worst thing that can ever happen to a nation. It is like an aggressive cancer, something which eats you inside out, because the cells of your body are fighting, and your head goes crazy due to the contradictions, until you are left vegetative, until there is a winner.**


	22. Only one thing remains

**1940**

* * *

The posters showed Spain triumphant, crushing the hammer and sickle, but the truth was that artists implied in their making took his face as a model and drew the rest using other sources. Spain was excused from doing the salute because he could barely raise his arms. When he descended the train in Hendaya, he was moved in a wheelchair by his assistant.

Upon their arrival, Germany smiled and approached, Hitler following him closely. Now that he was seeing him in person, Spain thought he was as impressive as the photos and records suggested. That man really had something. It wasn't a surprise he got so many adepts so quickly. As for his nation, Germany, he looked good the last time Spain saw him. He had gone through terrible times after he was defeated in the Great War, but recovered and it seemed Spain was not wrong when he thought he would rise from his ashes like a phoenix. Now he was triumphant, glorious—he had never seen someone standing so tall and healthy. He had Europe on the palm of his hand. He got his delicious revenge. The contrast between him and Spain was great—it almost seemed like a joke that it was Germany the one asking for help.

Franco and Hitler shook hands, posed for the cameras, so did Germany and Spain. Franco complimented Germany's magnificent looks, Hitler expressed his his admiration for Spain after surviving something so tough. Soon, the four of them walked to the room where the meeting would be held. Franco and Hitler walked in front of Spain and Germany, allowing them to have a private moment.

"How is your recovering going?" Germany asked Spain.

"Good. You know..." Spain smiled, but didn't finish the sentence.

Germany gazed at those green eyes, barely alive, and nodded.

"Of course."

After being recorded and photographed by the press, it was time to get down to business. They were taken to the room, the door was closed and the four of them were left alone. There was no need for translators: Germany and Spain knew each other's languages.

"France has surrendered. He is under our control now. Our next target is England. He has put obstacles in your way for centuries. He has hurt you, stolen from you. Why not taking this chance to settle scores? You have something that is very important to England: Gibraltar" Hitler said.

"Yes. Without Gibraltar, his access to the Mediterranean sea would be cut off" Franco nodded. "And without access to provisions or a escape..."

"He will have no chance but to surrender."

"But England is an enemy to fear. And if we attacked him, America will surely come to the rescue" Franco replied.

"If we are together, we can defeat them" Germany said to him.

"This war is coming to an end" Hitler said.

"And the Allies soon will fall" Germany concluded.

"So you want Antonio to help you speed up the process..." Franco said, pointing at his nation with a gesture of his hand.

"His alliance would be very useful indeed..."

"You want him to fight by your side..." Franco clasped his hands. "Well, there is just a problem you can easily see: he is in no condition to fight. His enemies, the false friends of the Republic, that bunch of communists almost got him killed. He is healing from his sickness. He needs help."

"Of course, we would provide everything you need" Germany replied, looking at Spain. "Food, construction material, petroleum, troops to crush the remaining threats..."

"I know of something that will make me feel better" Spain intervened.

"What is it?"

"Morocco."

"Morocco?" Hitler frowned.

"Yes" Franco nodded. "You have made France—if you pardon me the expression—your bitch, isn't he? He has affronted Spain in the past so many times."

"Morocco has not been very nice to me, either" Spain mentioned.

"Good friends don't let shame go unpunished."

"I have quite a few unfinished business with England too, now that I remember."

"If the Axis won, I am sure you could, ahem, convince England to let Spain be the sole manager of Gibraltar."

Germany and Hitler glanced at each other.

"It is true that France controls Morocco and we control France" Hitler stated, "but the new Europe we are building cannot exist without him. We want him happy, collaborative."

"If we stole his underling, he will never be on our side" Germany said.

"I don't want to hurt my dear neighbor, no, no, no" Spain shook his head.

"We just want to make sure an old debt is paid" Franco finished the sentence.

"Oh, and Argelia" Spain suddenly said. "I fought there long time ago and it would be a nice place for the holidays."

"Are we forgetting something, Antonio?"

"Cameroon."

"Ah, yes, Cameroon."

"He looks like a guy who could be useful."

There was a long silence from Germany and Hitler, broken by the nation clearing his throat.

"Well...We...can consider your demands and see what we can do. There is no pressure. First, you have to take care of yourself" he said, standing up.

"Whatever you decide, I am with you, Germany. You have a friend in me" Spain smiled at him.

"I will send you these days a list of all the Jews in our territory" Franco said.

"That will be much appreciated" Hitler smiled with a nod. "We will be in touch."

Spain had the feeling that the goodbye was a bit cold, but that was only his perception. His leader was satisfied.

"They act like they are winning, but they need you, Antonio" he said to him as they got out of the room. "If they want to win this, they will have to use your assistance. And I am not going to let you go through all that trouble for nothing."

He left because minister Serrano wanted to introduce him to someone. Spain supposed it was time to go to sleep. He consulted his pocket watch. Seven hours?! They had been talking for seven hours?! No wonder he felt so tired!

He was about to leave, not waiting for his assistant, when he noticed a man he knew smoking near the scene. His uniform was German, but he wasn't with his group. Spain approached.

"Did your friends leave you out?" Spain asked.

"Germany is the big guy here" Prussia said, and Spain noted a bit of scorn in his voice, something natural, taking into account how important he used to be in the European picture. "And the representation of the Aryan race. They seem to have something against white hair."

"Don't listen to them, you are the cutest thing" Spain smirked.

That made Prussia drew something similar to a smile.

"You still have strength left to joke?"

"Crying's getting me nowhere."

"Yeah...When I lost everything and had to move with my little brother I thought the same. You and I used to be big, now look at us..."

"You are part of the Axis. I'd say you are pretty big."

"Nah. Between you and I, I am in Germany's shadow. And I'm telling you, brother, that's bullshit."

Prussia threw away what was left of the cigarette and expelled the smoke.

"Yep. Germany and the Führer should accept the deal. Losers like us need to stick together."

"...We can still hang out together" Spain said.

"...Yeah...Sure, why not?"

When one year later Spain met with Veneciano, Romano and their leader Mussolini, Romano talked to Spain in such a way Mussolini had to ask his nation to calm down. Was he going to join the war or was he going to wait until everything was over to get the benefit? Spain replied it all depended on Germany giving him what he needed. He was still weak like a kitten. He was sorry that their last battles were not very successful, but that was the state of things.

Spain never got to formally join the Axis, even though he expressed his desire that they had good luck. However, since that interview in Hendaya Prussia visited his house very often. For the first time in a lot of time, he actually had a friend, someone who valued him not for what he could get from him, but ignoring his poverty and weakness.

Too bad Germany's previsions were too optimistic. Franco's worst perspectives came true: the Axis crossed swords with America until they got him involved, then everything started to go wrong. Four years after that series of interviews, Germany and his allies were forced to surrender and went through hell and humiliation in the hands of the victors. As for Prussia, he became part of the loot and Spain found himself alone again—and judged by the whole world.

* * *

**1946**

* * *

The ones who set out the question were Australia and Mexico. Spain's former colony was very interested about this. She didn't mention Spain explicitly but everybody knew who were they referring to...

The Axis Powers were going to pay for what they did—but what about the countries who collaborated with them and whose dictators still held the power?

Poland didn't want to lose time with implicit suggestions and asked it very clearly: what should they do to Spain?

The debate was intense. Spain could do nothing but wait at home, doing small progress getting up from his chair to move around the house. Franco said that was all he should be concerned about. In December, the resolution was published.

_«Considering Spain is guilty of plotting with Germany and Italy, circumstance which resulted in war, the nature of Franco's regime is fascist and was set with the help of said nations, and sent brigades against Russia and Morocco, ignoring the protests from the Allies, the United Nations have determined that Spain should not be part of us. Furthermore, we recommend all countries to recall their ambassadors in the Spanish territory»_

"Don't be sad, Antonio!" Franco said to him upon hearing the news, patting his back. "You don't need them! You can manage perfectly on your own!"

He was not sad. Nor disappointed. He just thought a lot about the voting. They didn't even bother to make it anonymous.

Some names were obviously in the list of those who voted yes: America, Russia, France and England. Poland too, like all nations who had been screwed up by the Axis. It was obvious. There were more. Bolivia, Belgium, Chile, Guatemala, Luxembourg, Mexico, Nicaragua, Panama, Paraguay, Uruguay, Venezuela...So many familiar and dear names.

Cuba and Holland abstained. Colombia, Honduras, Egypt and Turkey too. Oh...

Dominican Republic, Ecuador, Perú, El Salvador, Costa Rica and Argentina voted against this veto.

Ah, Argentina! He was not completely alone and that was a relief! His beautiful girl didn't see him like a monster!

"I brought you food, _papaíto_. Wheat, corn and oil. I also have some money I can give to you..."

No wonder she looked so concerned. His bones could be seen, as if he had no muscles under his skin.

"If there is...something more I can do for you..." she muttered, her arms crossed behind her back.

Spain didn't want her to be worried. He smiled at her, probably the first time he sincerely smiled in a lot of time, and kissed her forehead.

"Having you here is enough for me, _mi preciosa_."

He was not alone. He had Argentina. Thank God his precious girl was with him. And she was not the only one to leave her ambassador stay in Spain. Switzerland declared he was neutral about this. Vatican and Ireland kept them too. So did Portugal, with whom he kept in touch. He would often call to see how he was. Spain tried to sound merry over the phone, to have a clean handwriting when he wrote to him...

...But he was not alright.

He could hear it. He thought the end of the war would end with it, but he still had those echoes...His stomach was growling constantly, as much as the regime fed him, because his people were dying of hunger...At night, in his bed, he heard the shots, of the opponents being captured and killed...Their suffering, the fear, the resignation...Asking themselves day after day—would they live to see a new day? It was not strange to him to cry himself to sleep. Wishing one of the two sides had managed to kill him...It was unbearable...For how long would he resist?

_"My baby boy...Don't you cry...You promised you'd be brave..."_

"I've tried, Mother...I've tried...I know I promised you I would protect my siblings, and...shit, I've failed...It is me they had to protect themselves from...They killed you and Father because of me..."

_"...All that power will turn against you one day, and then you shall feel the sting of a million knives in your back, one for each of your sins..."_

"I'm so sorry, Aztec...Inca...You sure got your revenge..."

_"This is what you get for thinking you can be sovereign of anything. You are like a child who needs guidance."_

"I know I have made mistakes, Ferdinand, but I never wanted to hurt anybody. I am not like you. I didn't care about power. I only wanted...I only..."

_"What happened, then?"_

"...I don't know...I wish I could tell you, Isabella, my dear..."

_"I'll tell you what happened, my dear Hispania: power is like a drug—sweet, pleasant, but very dangerous and addicting. It destroys your mind, makes you see chimeras, changes the character...I wish I had warned you about it..."_

"No, Rome, it's my fault. I should have paid more attention to the lesson you were giving me...Now it is late to make amends..."

_"You are not dead yet. As long as there is life, there is hope."_

"Señor Al-Malak...Gosh, I forgot about you...But...I have done things that cannot be excused."

_"Time heals all wounds. You have the gift of time. We were sure you are destined to do great things. And we were not wrong."_

"Yes, you were never wrong...Ferdinand, Isabella...I know Franco is praising your work defending the faith, but I...I am very proud to be your son...I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but you knew, right?...I...I've done things I cannot excuse, but I think...you are right...you are all right...I didn't listen to your advice, to your experience, and let my heart grow dark...I lost myself...I let others control me...I let you and others decide...But not anymore...This...will pass too..."

_"You know who you are."_

"...I know who I am. I am Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. I am Spain...I will always be. No matter what. No matter who is in charge. There is only one person who can decide what I am, and where I want to go, and that is me. Leaders, kings, presidents—they can possess me, but there is something inside of me they will never own...Philip...I never told you, but..."

Spain blinked. Who was he talking to? He was lying in his bed and there was no one in the room but him. Phillip, the others, had been dead for a very long time. The morning sun was filling the room.

Running a hand through his face, he got up. He had to support himself on the walls, use a walking frame. But that morning...he felt different. The sickness was still there. He wouldn't get rid of it in a while...But that morning he felt...he could deal with it.

He had breakfast and left the house. His assistant wanted to help him, but he told her he wanted to do this alone.

He left the luxury of El Pardo and walked to the poorest area of the city. Many buildings were still in ruins because there was no money to reconstruct—there was barely food to eat. Spain caught a couple of men who were selling fish and chocolate when nobody was looking, using newspapers to hide their merchandise. Many walls still had bullet holes. Still, a group of seven or eight boys played soccer in the street, screaming and laughing, like any child their age.

Spain smiled, gazing at them. They didn't know it, but they were filling him with life.

"Hey, kids. May I play too?"

* * *

**After Franco's troops won the war and the republican leaders had to flee, the regime approached their fascist colleagues during the Meeting at Hendaya, in which Franco and Hitler discussed Spain joining the Axis Powers. Spain's intervention would have been beneficial to Hitler because of Gibraltar, a crucial place both UK and Spain owned, because it is the entry to the Mediterranean sea. Without it, England's coming or exit would have been cut off. The matter is that apparently Spain demanded too much in exchange for their support. The country was devastated after the civil war and it was questionable if he would turn out to be a useful ally, so in the end Spain remained neutral, though they always declared that everything depended on Germany's initiative and the regime was a moral supporter. This resulted in a Germanophile movement in Spain, and I like to think this is the beginning of the friendship between Spain and Prussia, resulting in the Bad Touch Trio. ****There is a curious story about this encounter related to Franco being an attention wh*re, manipulating photos so he looked taller than Hitler, and Hitler thinking he was insufferable. **

**We know the story: the fascists lost the war and it was time to make them pay. This left Spain in a complicated situation. It is what is called the Spanish Question, a debate in which they decided that the country was a supporter of Hitler and so couldn't join the UN. They even advised all ambassadors to leave the country, but a few countries didn't obey. Argentina was probably the biggest, maybe only ally Spain had during this period, due to Perón's regime being close to Franco's (that is why in 1947, when he and his famous wife Evita visited the country they were very well received by the people, as a way to thank them). Franco then convoked a protest in which he basically said the world he didn't care and they could manage on their own, and started an autarchy, in which foreigners were not trusted. It wasn't until the world forces started battling communism that they thought Franco was not that bad and let Spain join in the 50s.**

**I am finishing with a show of Spain's resilience. The post-war period was really cruel. Hunger and repression killed a lot of people. There was a lot of work to do. Food was rationed (and there was a big black market called estraperlo going on). But resistance started, and like author Ramiro Lacayo Deshón said, being happy was a form of resistance. **

**By the way. Argentina and Spain. Himaruya, please, we love Argentina and I have it understood that they like us back. Show them canonically, please. In the meantime, I have flopylopez97's wonderful design in mind for her.**


	23. Spain is different

**1950**

* * *

"You guys...I think we've been maybe a little harsh to Spain. I mean, he's not that bad...I mean, this boss is still an asshole, but him...We should cut him some slack, don't you think?"

America's words brought a frown to Russia's face.

"You called Spain an enemy of freedom not so long ago, maybe this change of mind is motivated by strategical interests?"

"I really have no idea what you're talking about, Russia. So, let us vote. Who thinks Spain should be allowed in our little club?"

Argentina, of course, immediately raised her hand. Other ex-colonies of his, like Ecuador, raised their hands. Venezuela and Bolivia, as well as Belgium, Holland and Luxembourg, changed their minds and votes yes.

"Who says no?"

Mexico was still in favor of giving Spain what he deserved, letting the fascists get the power. Russia and his loyal sister Belarus were not going to give the regime that legitimization. Poland and Israel had no sympathy for him either and also voted no. So did Uruguay and Guatemala.

"Abstentions?"

Cuba just crossed his arms. Australia, so interested in this matter last time they voted, decided he had changed his mind. France and England, who once despised Spain, didn't say anything this time. Denmark and Sweden, who voted in favor of leaving Spain out last time, now were neutral about this.

"That is 38 in favor, 10 against, 12 abstentions. Okay, so...Can somebody call Spain and tell him to come here?"

* * *

**1953**

* * *

"I've been wanting to ask you for so long...Why did you do that, America? Defending me before the UN. I thought you hated my boss."

America licked his lips, apparently not listening to Spain's question.

"What was this called, again?" he asked.

"Sangría."

"Hm" he muttered, then he left the glass on the table. "Well, let's make one thing clear: I still think your boss sucks. He's a fascist pig and goes against all I believe in. No offense."

"None taken."

"But he is against communism, and that is something in his favor. Why do you think France, England, Australia, so many people have changed their mind? Because communism is a problem. That is the one thing the Axis was right about. It is dangerous, it kills people. Look at the people under Russia's control: do you think they like it? I saw Lithuania the other day. He used to be a great guy; now he looks tired and sick."

"Yeah, I know. I used to hang out with Prussia, and I'm not allowed to visit him or even call him..."

"Russia's a tyrant. He won't stop until he rules the world and turns it into a gigantic gulag."

"And I suppose you're here to stop it..."

America glanced at Spain with a smile.

"Someone has to do something, right?"

"I suppose..." Spain shrugged.

"You probably have the best house in the whole Europe. A very well-situated point."

"I know. That's why I've been having trouble all of my life."

"So, listen to me: I'll give you everything you need, money, food, all that stuff, if you let me build some bases here. Four or five. Both of us will be winning. What do you say?"

Spain considered the offer looking into the red liquid in his glass.

Finally, he offered his hand to shake.

"Deal."

America grinned and shook his hand.

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship" he imitated Humphrey Bogart's voice.

* * *

**1965**

* * *

"Oh, my God, there they are!"

The girls started screaming, making Spain's friend, Toño, to cover his ears.

"Jesus! All this fuss for some long-haired morons?!" he complained.

"Where've you been? It's the Beatles!" Spain chuckled.

They were getting off the plane, waving their arms at the mass of fans greeting them in the Barajas Airport.

"I still don't know why you like their music. You have a gorgeous music of our own" Toño kept bickering.

"Gee, Toño, I am the oldest here by far, but you, you are acting like a grandpa, dude" Spain chuckled.

Spain was there to receive the group. Photos were taken, which Spain would ask for to frame later. He complimented their music and hoped they had a nice stay, and the Liverpool boys were really flattered and thankful. Then, when the crowd surrounded them, Spain moved away, and it was then when somebody tapped his shoulder with a finger.

"England!"

"Hello, Spain" he removed his sunglasses and smiled at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, the group was on tour and I said to myself that I could take this chance to go on holidays. I have some free time and..."

"Oh. I...had no idea you were a fan of the Beatles."

"What surprises me is that you are a fan."

"Are you kidding? They're sweet!"

England chuckled.

"We finally agree on something..."

"Who would have thought it!" Spain smiled too. "Hey, why don't you come to my place?"

"Well, I am not in the mood for diplomatic visits..."

"No, that's not what I mean. My boss is in a ceremony concerning a new reservoir. I mean you and I, at my place, alone. I could show you around if you want—I mean, if you promise this time you will not try to destroy and rob my cities."

England smiled.

"That was long time ago. I am starting to feel old: I just want to have a peaceful time."

"Or maybe you are feeling younger."

"Yes, we can see it that way."

"So...What do you say?"

"...Alright. Yes. Why not?"

* * *

**1968**

* * *

Massiel was young, but not inexperienced. She had appeared in movies and sang at music festivals. However, now all of Europe was looking at her, and she was really nervous.

"I feel like I am going faint..." she muttered.

"It's okay, _nena_. I am with you. Look at me. I'll be there. Whatever happens, you will still be the best for me."

Spain smiled at her, grabbed her hands, and Massiel breathed deep, closing her eyes. She raised her head to smile at Spain, and he caressed her chin.

"Now go there and show them what you can do."

She nodded and followed the staff which was giving her orders. Spain went back to his seat, joining the other nations.

"It is time for Massiel, representing Spain with the song 'La, la, la'"

"Wooo!" Spain probably made a scene, clapping and cheering, but did he care? Absolutely. Massiel needed it.

She started shy, Spain could see her fright.

_"Yo canto a la mañana / Que ve mi juventud / Y al sol que día a día / Nos trae nueva inquietud / Todo en la vida es / Como una canción / Que cantan cuando naces / Y también en el adiós"_

Her smile widened when she gazed at him.

_"La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...~"_

And Spain smiled too. He didn't care if she won or not. He liked that song, and he loved Massiel.

"Did I do it right? I think I controlled my fright, but..." Massiel said to him when the time for voting came.

"You did fine. You should be proud" Spain told her, wrapping an arm around her and kissing her cheek.

They squeezed each other's hand when the jury finally announced their decision.

England received 28 points...Oh...The song he had presented, _Congratulations_, was very fitting, then...

But wait...They got...29 points!

"And the winner is Spain, with Massiel's song _La, la, la_."

Massiel gasped and hugged Spain, almost making him fall to the floor. She filled his face with kisses, thanking him, and Spain responded the exact same way. Together, they ran to the stage, where Massiel was given the trophy and required to sing the reprise. This time, Spain sang with her.

"_Le canto a mi madre / Que dio vida a mi ser / Le canto a la tierra / Que me ha visto crecer_" Massiel sang.

"_Y canto al día en que / Sentí el amor/ Andando por la vida / Aprendí esta canción_" Spain continued.

And together they said:_ "La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...~"_

* * *

That was enough, he judged. Spain abandoned his lying position and checked that he was not red. No. Good. He wasn't sure of how long he had been sunbathing—he wanted to get a bit of suntan, but not end up like if he was African or a lobster. He sat under his umbrella and grabbed one of the magazines he had bought at the gas station. Julio Iglesias sang at the television program _Galas del Sábado_, Raphael was greeted at the airport by a crowd of hysteric girls, the latest news about empress Farah Diba...

He raised his eyes from the magazine and found something which made him lose all interest in gossip.

A man who had been swimming in the placid water and now came out, dripping, shaking his hair a bit. He was the blondest guy he had ever seen.

A funny feeling took over his body when he saw him. His pupils dilated and blush made his cheeks burn more than the recent exposition to sun.

He watched him walking to the blue towel he had left in the sand, drying himself a bit before sitting on it, putting his glasses on and just sat in there, watching the Levante beach, looking really relaxed.

Spain was so extremely curious that he couldn't resist the urge to approach him.

"Uh...Hey there!"

The blond guy turned his bright blue eyes to him. Gosh, those eyes almost made him forget what he was about to say.

"What's up?"

The guy didn't reply.

"I'm Spain. Who are you?"

"Sweden."

"Sweden?"

That Scandinavian nation? What was he doing there? It seemed like he was blocking the sun to him, so he moved to sit by his side.

"I've never seen you around before."

"I heard about your beaches."

"My beaches?"

Spain gazed at the water.

"What about them?"

"They are nice."

"Do you think so?"

"Yes."

"Ah...So you came all the way here to have a swim and stuff?"

"Yes."

"Thanks, I guess...Hmm...Did you come here alone? I mean, are you with someone?" seeing the way Sweden was looking at him and his mutism, Spain clarified: "I would love to show you around."

Sweden took his time to answer.

"...Okay."

So the first place Spain took him was a restaurant.

"This is _arroz a banda_. It's not exactly paella, it's a recipe original from Alicante. You got moralla, a type of fish, and alioli, uhm, a sauce made of garlic and olive oil."

Sweden watched the plate for long. Then, he grabbed his fork and took a bit. Spain wasn't sure if he liked it, because that guy was so inexpressive, but he thought he had seen a positive reaction in his eyes.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"...Yes" Sweden admitted, and he showed it taking a more generous bite.

Spain, however, didn't eat. He placed his elbows on the table and watched Sweden eat with a transfixed expression.

"I also suggest you to try the espetos."

"What is that?"

"It's fried fish."

"Bring them in, yes."

"If you're still hungry we got horchata, fartons, flan, fruit, Catalan cream..."

"Mmmkay" Sweden nodded, still eating.

"Anything you want."

"Thanks."

"By God, your eyes are really gorgeous, did someone ever told you?"

"Hm?"

"Nothing."

Sweden had probably eaten too much, it was difficult for him to stand up from his chair, so Spain took him for a walk to let the food settle.

"We call this the Balcony of the Mediterranean. Isn't it beautiful?" Spain spread his arms to show him the sea around them.

"It is" Sweden nodded, his hands on the balustrade to lean forward and watch the walls of rock under them.

The sudden sound of the camera taking a photo made him turn around.

"No, no, no, don't move. You look fabulous right now" Spain said to him, shaking a hand.

So Sweden continued in the same posture so Spain could take him one or two more photos.

After that, Spain took him to the Tower of la Escaleta, then to the church of Saint James. After that, they continued to take a walk.

"If you're tired, we could have an ice cream" Spain suggested.

"Ice cream would be nice, yes" Sweden nodded.

"Are you...having a good time?"

"I like this a lot" Who would have said, seeing how serious that guy was, but Spain considered he was being sincere, and it brought a wide smile to his face.

"I'm so glad! But you've seen nothing yet. The best thing comes when sun goes down."

That night, he took Sweden out to have dinner out. After that, he suggested visiting an Andalusian place he knew, ran by a gypsy family. Being the nation, he was very well received and served the very best, on the house, of course. But Spain had chosen this place because they did these flamenco shows. He smiled seeing Sweden mesmerized by the frenetic heel tap, the movement of the dress of the girl in the stage, her beautiful but fierce expression, the raspy voice of the male singer, the rhythmic clapping. The group asked Spain to join them and he didn't need much insistence to get on the stage. His intervention, dancing with the girl, seemed to make the show even more impressive, as if he, representing the country which invented that dance, made it even more magical, supernatural, breathtaking. When he finished, he saw Sweden clapping with a smile—did he shout 'Olé!'? Perhaps. They had drunk so much alcohol that day he was surely a bit tipsy.

Spain bowed to his audience and it was then, turning his head into the direction where he had heard a whistle, when he saw him. He narrowed his eyes, not sure if...but yes, it was him.

"France?"

Yes, it was France. He knew because when Spain recognized him, he almost chocked on his drink and talked to the lady by his side, and tried to escape. Spain jumped from the stage, told Sweden to please excuse him for a second, and walked to that table.

"France?"

France was pretending to be lacing his shoes. But that didn't work, when he raised his head Spain was still there, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

"What are you doing here?"

France pressed his lips, not sure of what to say.

"...I like your gastronomy, okay?" he was forced to admit.

"Sure...The gastronomy..." Spain smirked, pointing at the dancer with a thumb.

He smiled at France.

"Well, I hope you have a nice time here. And I really mean it...Look, I'm with Sweden in that table over there, if you and your friends want to join us..."

So many people were interested in his place lately...

...And that gave him an idea...

He grabbed his pen and pad from his pocket and wrote something: «Call boss. Tourists.»

* * *

**As years passed, the economic problems of the post-war disappeared. Food rationing was no longer necessary in 1950. Something which contributed was Spain being accepted internationally, due to the increasing fear of communism, the biggest enemy of Franco's regime, taking over the whole war, now immersed in the Cold War. There was a big approach to the United States, which build military bases in our country in exchange of economic compensation (and would later used certain facilities when sending astronauts to the moon). We were left out of the Marshall plan (and there is a classic movie by Berlanga called _Welcome, Mr. Marshall! _which satirizes this) but this helped our economy. Also, and due to the regime's extremely religious and conservative nature, there were pacts with the Vatican.**

**But the biggest contribution to the improvement of our situation was tourism. The creation of the middle class in the 60s made Spanish people afford traveling around the country, something only rich people could do until then, and the coast started building hotels and multiplying their entertainment offer. There is another movie from this time, called _El turismo es un gran invento_, which portrays perfectly this boom, and the race of many towns to strive by taking advantage of this. And it was then when we started receiving tourists from other countries. Were we fascinated! I often say part of our racism comes from not being frequently exposed to foreigners until then. It was now when we saw these extremely blond people coming from United Kingdom, France, Russia, and it was a big shock. But the ones we loved were the Swedish. If you watch comedies from this time, you will see we were specially mesmerized by the Swedish girls, probably because of the contrast with the Mediterraneans. ¡Las suecas! We used to call any blonde girl Swedish. The Swedish girls ar legendary still to this day.**

**The title comes from a slogan used to promote tourism in Spain during this time, exactly that: Spain is Different. Nowadays we kind of use it to point out the weird or embarrassing stuff about ourselves, though.**

**Also, I have mentioned Spain's first victory in the Eurovision contest, not without controversy because it has been said it was rigged by Franco, who also prevented famous singer Serrat from participating because he wanted to sing in Catalan and chose Massiel instead. The song, which is an ode to life and happiness, fits the optimistic spirit of Spain. I included the headcanon that the nations sing the reprise with their representatives. **


	24. My own person

**1970**

* * *

"They are asking me to pardon those terrorist, Paquito."

Franco frowned and raised his head form his papers.

"Who is?" he asked.

"Everyone. France, England, Italy, Germany, my kids from South America, Belgium, Austria, Sweden, Norway..."

"You should find better friends, then. Those people want to kill you."

"But you are being too harsh on them. Even the Pope says so. Death penalty...That's going a bit too far."

"I have to be if I want to protect you. Soon..."

"...Soon what?"

Franco smiled.

"You are special. You have been looking like a twenty-year old for centuries. But I am just a man. I am getting old, weak...I am dying, Antonio. And I am very worried about what will happen to you when I am gone. Who will take care of you..."

The leader sighed. He stood up, Spain had to help him. He walked to the window.

"I am very concerned about your relationship with America, Antonio..."

"He is just a friend. Well, a friend...an ally" Spain explained.

"So you deny you are close to him?"

"Of course. I know he does not give a damn about us: he just wants his army here, to bother Russia. And I know he has been insulting my Latin American kids, and I am telling you, Paquito, nobody messes with my kids...But I remember when he was a kid, and he's been helpful, so I tolerate him. We tolerate each other. That's all."

"Then why did I find all those magazines and music in your room?"

Spain stared at the leader for long. Eventually, he licked his lips.

"...I'm not going to act like I don't know you and your people come into my room while I'm away, because I'm not that stupid. But I'm not sure that's something I am taking any longer...You are my boss and all, but I think it is none of your business what I listen to or what I read."

"Ever since all those people from outside came you have been exposed to ideas that might hurt you. I have been informed of some films you have been watching, and the magazines you have been reading...Pornography...Look at you, talking me back..."

"Well, I'll tell you something: last century I was fighting half of those nations, and now I can actually sit down with them with soda and snacks and have a nice conversation. For you that might not be important, but for me it's quite a change. As for me talking you back...I am just not going to be quiet about all these things which annoy me."

The leader said nothing. He just stood there, looking through the window.

"You may think I am acting like a brat, but you seem to forget I am not a two-year old who needs a babysitter. Since these may be your last years of life, why don't you enjoy them, do something nice for your family?" Spain said.

"You are part of my family, Antonio" Franco replied. "I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved a person, with the exception of my wife, my daughter and my grandchildren."

Spain knew, yes. He knew perfectly that he had put him before his fellow human beings...

"That doesn't mean I owe you something" Spain replied before coming out.

Franco turned around to stop Spain, but he had already shut the door. With eyebrows furrowed, he watched him moments later from the window, driving his car away from the Pardo palace.

He was rebellious. He probably knew he was getting weak before he told him. Nations were fascinating creatures, of course he had to know. That was why he was doing things now that he wouldn't have even thought of doing thirty years before.

Franco was upset, but not worried. When he was gone, Spain would have people who would make sure he didn't stray from the glorious path he had worked so much on for him. Juan Carlos, from the Bourbon house, was already in Spain, preparing himself to be king when the Lord called him. The whole regime was organized to make sure things stayed the way they should be. It didn't matter that Spain was exposed to all those friends from abroad, with their heads full of dangerous ideas. Nobody would let him lose his mind. He had left everything tied up.

* * *

**1973**

* * *

"Hey, look who's here!"

Spain was received like every morning at the bar like a good friend. During his long stays in Madrid, he never forgot to have breakfast at Merce's establishment, and she was so proud that their nation had chosen it, even if it was small and modest. Spain was reserved a stool at the right extreme of the counter, near the Spanish omelettes and olives. Since it was a small neighborhood bar, everybody knew each other, and everybody knew and loved Spain.

"Did you see El Cordobés last weekend, Antoñito?" one of them asked him, a man with white hair and glasses called Enrique, passionate about bullfighting.

"He's busy fighting bigger bulls. Like the leader" another one of the regular customers, a man with a sad face, Alberto, replied, looking at Spain with a smile as he asked Merce for churros with chocolate.

"There they are, trying to make him talk about such private things again... Antonio, you don't have to tell them anything" Merce intervened.

"Thanks, Merceditas, I am tired of the _Caudillo_ and his people" he replied, sighing a bit. "So, yeah, El Cordobés. A bit clumsy, but he..."

He was interrupted by an explosion which made the glass of the establishment shatter. People jumped from their seats, Merce dropped the dish she had in her hands, screaming. Outside, the street was filled with smoke.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

"WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!"

"IS EVERYBODY ALRIGHT?"

"I JUST SAW A CAR FLY!"

"SWEET JESUS!"

Nobody dared to run outside, like some people did, to see what happened. From where they were they could see perfectly the pothole the explosion had produced, quickly filling with water after a pipe broke. They heard many voices pointing at the roof of one of the neighboring building. Whoever screamed such an absurd observation was right: a car had ended up up there.

At that moment Spain didn't know, but his President, Mr. Carrero Blanco, was inside of that car. Just like he ignored that that morning of December would turn his life around.

* * *

"Wow, man, that's horrible, I've seen it in the news. Are you okay?"

"I was near the place, having breakfast...I still can't believe it..."

"I know...So close to my embassy...Tell your boss and the family I'm sorry, okay? If I didn't have so much to do here at home, I'd go myself..."

"Just tell me something, America..."

"Yeah?"

"...You and your people had nothing to do with this, right?"

Silence from the other side of the line.

"You've been watching too many spy movies lately, Spain" America chuckled, and he hanged up.

Spain did too and joined the attendants.

Yeah, he was probably very bewildered by what happened.

The room reflected perfectly what the whole people of Spain felt: nervousness, anguish...It had been confirmed that the terrorist band E.T.A. was responsible for it. It was an 'act of justice' for what Civil Guard had done to nine of their fellows. Justice...They called such a barbaric act justice...

"Antonio."

After paying his respects to Carrero's widow, Franco gestured Spain to approach.

"This is don Juan Carlos. He will be the head of State when the moment comes. And this is his wife, Sofía of Greece."

Spain had heard about the prince but had never seen him in person. He had been avoiding everyone lately, as much as he was curious to meet the grandson of Alfonso. He was a good looking man, and his wife had a very kind face and spoke kind words.

"I have heard so much about you, Mr. Spain. I am glad I could finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, don Juan Carlos" Spain bowed a bit, and Juan Carlos smiled.

"No, please, don't. If someone should bow after you, that is me."

"Well...One day you'll be my boss."

Spain didn't realize the way he said that. He thought he had used a neutral tone. Maybe Franco was in a bad mood because one of his most loyal men had been murdered, or Juan Carlos had just realize he had not inherited a meek nation. The atmosphere turned cold.

But then Juan Carlos smiled.

"I am sure you and I will get along" he said.

"Sure, of course" Spain said.

He was not very convinced, though. He was sure things were not going to change any time soon. But it was okay. He had convinced himself long time ago that things were never going to be his way. It didn't hurt anymore, because now he expected nothing from nobody.

It wasn't until two years later that the change began.

* * *

**1975**

* * *

And it all happened early in the morning. He was having a really nice dream when a phone call woke him up. And so, in a wink, he forgot completely what it was about. Urgh. He rubbed his face and extended his arm to grab the phone.

"Yesss?" he grunted.

The words he heard made him wake up completely in a matter of seconds.

Soon later, he was driving to the Hospital La Paz, feeling a funny feeling inside of his chest. He drove close to the limit of speed.

When he got there, however, it had already happened.

* * *

_«People of Spain...__Franco...is dead.»_

While President Arias Navarro gave his people the news on the television, grief barely allowing him to speak, Spain remained sat outside of the hospital room, not moving, not speaking. The poor boy was so afflicted, of course. The widow, Carmen Polo, caressed his cheek and, sighing, went to receive some more visitors. They offered him their condolences, assured him everything would be alright, this was a blow but he had to be strong.

But among all those sorrowful faces, a faint smile grew on his.

...Franco was dead...

* * *

Only Hussein from Jordania, Pinochet from Chile and Rainier from Monaco attended the mass funeral. None of the nations Spain knew showed up.

On the other hand, he did see them at the ceremony of Juan Carlos' crowning as king.

France, Germany and America were present when Juan Carlos, from the tribune, took deep breath and said:

"In this time charged with emotion and hope, full of pain for the events we just lived, I assume the crown of the kingdom with full aware of my responsibility before the Spanish people and the honorable duty which implies for me the compliance of the laws and the respect of a centenary tradition which now converge on the throne..."

The king's eyes, all cameras were witnesses, turned to the nation.

"Today a new period in Spain's history starts. This period, which we will go through together, starts with peace, work and prosperity, fruit of the common effort and decisive, collective will. The Monarchy will be faithful guardian of this inheritance and will always try to keep the closest relationship with the people."

Clapping. Spain was smiling and did what was expected from him, receiving his new monarch with respect.

But nobody in the room really believed Spain trusted this man. Because they didn't, either.

* * *

Spain was practicing with the guitar when they knocked at his door. He stopped playing and waited.

"Mr. Spain?"

"Yes?"

"...May I come in?"

After doubting for a second, Spain got up from his bed and walked to the door to open it. There he found Juan Carlos, standing with an almost shy look. Well, at least he was asking, he didn't just walk in, so he supposed he could step aside and let him in. Juan Carlos walked in and looked around.

"Quite a minimalist room..." he observed.

"I used to have lots of junk from centuries ago" Spain explained. "I decided to do a big clean up and donate most of it to museums, make some gifts to old friends...Some of those memories were depressing anyway..."

Juan Carlos nodded and then his eyes focused on the guitar on the bed.

"Do you play guitar?"

"Yeah. My skills are kind of rusty, but I am trying to get back to it."

"Didn't Franco let you play?"

"...No, I just..."

There was no point in pretending they were friends, Spain thought, so he decided to go straight to the point of Juan Carlos' visit.

"Look, your Majesty..."

"You can call me Juan Carlos. Juan, Carlos...However you like."

"Okay. Uhm, Juan Carlos, it's not that I have something against you. Really. And I'm sorry if I was rude to you at some point. But all that you're saying about bringing a big change, doing things differently...I've heard that before, and it never ended up well."

Juan Carlos nodded.

"I understand."

"So..."

"So...That is why I am here. I know nobody but Franco chose me. He never asked you for your opinion on any matter. But I want to be the king of all Spanish people, not only those who are on my side. There should be no sides now. Aren't you tired of it?"

"Yes. I am so tired of feeling divided, honestly..."

"You deserve your opinions being taken into account. I know your experiences have made you see a pattern, but I want that to change. I don't want to be your owner. I want to be your friend. Work with you."

Spain frowned slightly, gazing at him.

"...How do I know I can trust you?"

"...Actions speak louder than words" Juan Carlos replied. "Just wait, okay? Just for a little."

Spain doubted, he tapped his fingers against his own thighs, then sighed.

"If there is something I have is time, I guess..."

It took time, yes. During the following months, Spain listened to so many promises: amnesty, political freedom, reform of the laws...Had Carrero lived to hear about this, he would have foamed. The living country's leadership, which wanted things to stay the way they were, were foaming indeed. Spain was starting to think Juan Carlos would be kicked out in any moment. He was rubbing so many people the wrong way with his pretensions. He wished he actually did what he had promised. Bringing a real change to the situation...But every time his people protested, the government sent the police and even the army to repress them. There were casualties. The government would work hard to keep things the way they were.

However, it was precisely this situation what made Juan Carlos compel president Arias Navarro to resign. He was being pressured to make changes and he didn't deliver. Then, that young politician, a man called Adolfo Suárez, was put in charge. And he did something Spain wouldn't have expected in a million years.

As soon as he heard the news, he ran to Suárez's office and got in without knocking. He surprised the president talking over the phone. Spain showed him the papers still in his hand.

"What is this? Explain to me, because I must have lost all of my reading comprehension skills" he asked, panting.

Suárez excused himself to the person he was talking to, then hanged up to walk to Spain with a smile.

"My friend, you are now a democratic nation."

* * *

**1977**

* * *

In his house, Spain tried to spend the night as calm as he could, but there was this feeling inside of him which didn't allow him to do anything at all. All he could do was lay on the bed and wait. He had turned on the television to distract himself with one of this humor programs, but his mind always returned to the same issue, and he was tired of reading and hearing news about it. But he couldn't engage himself in any activity either! So in the end he decided to gaze at the ceiling and wait for the results.

At that time, during the whole day, his people were voting for the first time in forty-one years. No...this time was different, perhaps. Everybody could vote. Everybody at all, men and women of all ideologies, of both sexes, all those who were legally adults...They had so many parties to choose, even the communists! At that moment he remembered so many people he wished they were alive to see this...

Who would win? He was curious to know...

Whoever was in charge of the Parliament would be their partners in of the biggest projects in his life: the writing of a Constitution.

* * *

**1978**

* * *

«You know I am not a human; I represent the feelings, traditions and history of millions of people through time. Therefore, I cannot vote, because I don't have an opinion about political matters. But my people have spoken for me. Yesterday, they said yes to the new Constitution, which makes me sovereign. And by making me a sovereign, you, my people, have given yourselves the power, and nobody will take this away from you. This Constitution is special because it has been made from unity, consensus. This Constitution will protect all of my people, and my sister Catalunya's, and my brother's Basque Country. Everyone. Together, we will work together for freedom, justice, equality and pluralism. I have made mistakes in the past and allowed my rulers to make them, but not anymore. From now on, everyone, even the government, will have to respond before the law, the people and me. If there is something I can contribute with is experience. I have made many mistakes, I have committed many sins, and I don't want to fall into them again. However, I cannot do this alone. That is why I proclaim myself as a parliamentary monarchy. With the guidance and representation of the house of Bourbon, I am sure we can do great things. My people...I am so proud of you...»

There was no reason for Spain to keep living at El Pardo. He didn't have to live under Juan Carlos' roof, at La Zarzuela. He could live wherever he wanted. Nobody controlled what he did, where he went, who he talked to, at what time he went to bed, what he ate, what he read...

...He was free...

After the discourse, he changed his suit for a black t-shirt and jeans and spent the night bar after bar.

_«Cuando por la mañana suena el despertador / Cuando a mediodía comes en el comedor / cuando por la tarde ves la televisión / cuando por la noche usas el vibrador __/ Toca el pito / y en un momentito a tu lado estaré»_

Most people Spain knew would have been horrified by the looks of those young singers and would have considered what they were making was noise, not music; what about the way they moved, as if they were being electrocuted? But Spain felt it like a drug running through his veins, shaking his body, driving him mad.

He almost forgot England was back to the country on vacations and had telephoned him to meet here. It wasn't until he saw him coming into the pub when he came back to reality and approached.

"You never stop surprising me!" he told him as soon as he saw him, having to yell because the music was so loud.

If someone would have told him fifty years before that he would see England wearing something which were not tweed suits, but t-shirt, jeans and a leather jacket, he would have thought they were not talking about the same person. But he was not dreaming. England was actually dressed that way, and seemed to like the music they were playing live.

"They're good, but my punk is better!"

"We'll see about that. I'm happy to see you."

"What? I can't hear you!"

"I said, and I can't believe I am saying this, I'm glad to see you again!"

England smiled and approached his lips to his ear so he didn't have to scream like a madman to have a conversation with him.

"You're a good man and I like coming to your house when I have the chance! I know I've been kind of an arsehole in the past to you, but...!"

"It's okay, dude! I was one big douchebag too!"

Things were changing. Spain finally saw it. He could finally be himself, do the things he wanted, try everything...No more impositions, no more doubts. He was free.

Darn, he had known England for ages, he had become an important part of his life. And, even if he had been married to men in the past, he had never kissed one, he didn't know what it felt like. So he removed the spine of both and left a mischievous kiss on England's lips.

* * *

**Most of the time Spanish History students have little to no time to study this part of our history and it is a pity, because it explains so many things going on today.**

**Franco's health was deteriorating at the beginning of the 70s, and like in all governments based on a figure, his regime was in danger when he was gone, he had to think of what would happen when that moment came. He didn't want Spain to go through what happened in Portugal, when revolution ended with Salazar's regime and communists got the power. So he decided to bring back monarchy with Alfonso XIII's grandson, Juan Carlos, supposedly molded into his beliefs (he didn't choose Juan, Alfonso's son, who had to be the one to get the crown by right because of ideological reasons). Also, he made Luis Carrero Blanco president, a man who belonged to this branch which didn't want any change.**

**But E.T.A., a terrorist organization which had been killing in the past years (and here we see the public opinion was on their side because they were seen as opposing to the regime), killed Carrero in a really spectacular attack, so brutal the car actually ended up in a roof. Spain's conversation with America is based on the conspiracy theory which says that the United States had something to do with it, being the embassy so close to the place where the explosives were put underground, something almost impossible to do secretly. However, it seems that the United States were not much of a fan of the idea of Spain being a democracy, even if their ideas had influenced the minds of the Spaniards a lot. The public opinion was turning against their presence in the country (mostly after an incident with radioactive material in the waters of Palomares due to the crash of one of their planes), and it seemed convincing democrats to let them stay would be harder than convincing the Francoists. **

**Anyway, Franco died and Juan Carlos was crowned, and he didn't do what he was expected to do. He made Adolfo Suárez president and let him destroy the Francoist laws using their own legislation. After that, some parties like the Communist were legalized and the first democratic elections of our recent history took place, Suárez's party being the winner. That is why in his honor the Barajas Airport changed its name to include his when he died in 2014. The new Parliament, formed by people of different ideologies, created the Constitution we have now. **

**With democracy, the Spanish people went mad. Since there was no censorship anymore, a new cinema genre appeared called 'destape', which is basically little plot and lots of feminine nudity. It was such a phenomenon that like half of the movies produced during the late 60s and the 70s were of this kind, mostly starred by actors Andrés Pajares and Fernando Esteso. Also, it was in democracy when the Movida started, a counter-cultural movement, mostly in Vigo and Madrid. The one Spain is watching is Kaka de Luxe, the debut of a very famous singer in Spain called Alaska, but there were more: Loquillo, Nacha Pop, Radio Futura, Los Secretos or Tequila.**

**Why is England in this picture? Why does Spain like him now? Related to the last chapter, this is the beginning of tourism, and it turns out the most numerous since the beginning to these days have always been the British. Also, British punk was a big influence to the artists of the Movida. Not to mention that during this time gender roles, sexuality and all those things repressed during the dictatorship were starting to relax. We definitely went mad those years...**


	25. A fragile peace

**1981**

* * *

Spain was aware that Suárez had done lots of things wrong lately, that was why he had resigned and now they were voting for his successor, but he was going to miss him so much. They looked at each other and Suárez smiled at him. This was not the end of their relationship, of course. Suárez had promised him they would still keep in touch, have drinks together. But Spain was used to work with him and now he would have to get to know another man, this...uhm...

"What was his name again?" he asked the man by his side.

"Calvo Sotelo."

"Wait, didn't they kill that man in 1936?"

"_Leopoldo_ Calvo Sotelo."

"Ah. Yeah. Thanks."

It was not that he wasn't interested in their names. It was just that he had never had as many people in the government for such a short period of time. It was difficult to him to remember so many names, as hard as he tried.

"Manuel Núñez Encabo."

This one as a socialist, if Spain was not mistaken. Oh, well, was that important?

He was distracted by the noise of a door bursting open. A man with a mustache, dressed with the Civil Guard uniform, three-cornered hat included, came into the room. He glanced around and climbed the stairs to the tribune.

"Nobody move!" he exclaimed.

The present people glanced at each other with great confusion. Spain stood up. More guards came into the room, blocking the exits. One more person got up from his seat and was brave enough to walk to them, not listening to Suárez, who was asking him to stay in his seat: it was the vice-president and lieutenant Gutiérrez Mellado.

"Who is your commander?" he demanded to know, looking directly at that man's face. "From who are you receiving orders?!"

"Sit down! I'm telling you to sit down!" the man with the mustache replied. He had a pistol in his hand.

But Mellado wasn't going to obey, he was the highest rank in there. So the civil guards tossed him around.

"Eh!" Spain complained.

"Leave him alone!" Suárez exclaimed, extending his arm to Mellado.

"Get out of here! Everyone get down on the floor! On the floor!"

No words could have been more convincing than the burst of shots aimed to the ceiling and the press tribune. All those heads quickly hid under the seats.

"Sit down, damn it!"

All except Santiago Carrillo, president of the PCE, Suárez, Mellado—and Spain himself, who was still standing up. After all, it was him the one they were after.

And, indeed, while those men destroyed the cameras in the room and silenced the journalists who were broadcasting the session, the man with the mustache walked to him.

"Mr. Spain..."

"Yeah...I think I know what this is..."

* * *

_«We are here on live to give you the latest news from Madrid. The situation inside of the House of Congress is still uncertain. The Ministry of Internal Affairs has asked all civil authorities to be on alert. The nation is inside of the building!»_

* * *

One by one, the hostages return to their seat. No one dared to speak, not even mutter. One of the assailants went to the speaker's podium and announced:

"You will have to wait until the military authority shows up. Stay in your seats and calm down."

"So I guess I have no authority here..." Spain gazed at the man with the mustache.

No response from him, who stood firm.

"Please, I can't take this anymore!" one of the congresswomen exclaimed.

"Shut up!" was those men's answer. A young captain even aimed at her with his submachine gun.

"Please, she is pregnant with twins, let her go" Spain spoke directly to the man in front of him.

"Let her go!" he exclaimed, and, like moments later she was escorted out of the room, like they did with some of the civilians present.

Not listening to the men who ordered him to stay in his seat, Suárez climbed the stairs to reunite with Spain.

"What is this all about?"

"Go back to your seat" the man replied.

"As the President, I demand to speak to whoever is in charge here."

"You are no longer president of anything."

"Sit down, damn it!" somebody yelled.

"He is" Spain faced the civil guard. "And I also want to know who you are and who is in charge."

"I am lieutenant-colonel Antonio Tejero. You can address me."

"Lieutenant Tejero, I demand an explanation."

"The explanation is simple, Mr. Spain: this folly has gone too far."

"Are you talking about democracy and freedom?"

"You have gone mad, completely mad. You are letting people do what they want with your house, with us...You let these rascals destroy what always worked...There are no jobs now...We are penniless...Everybody makes a fool of you...And you let them!"

"So is that what all of this is about? Going back to the old times? To Franco's designs?" Spain frowned.

"He wanted the best for you and you threw all of his hard work away—and ignore all these people who are dying..."

"Their deaths are hurting me more than you can imagine, lieutenant..."

"You have nothing to hold against him!" Suárez grunted.

Tejero frowned, grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the room.

"Adolfo!" Spain exclaimed.

He followed them, but was stopped by some more guards.

"You stay here, Mr. Spain."

"Hell, no! Adolfo!"

"We are doing this for your own good..." the captain who stopped him told him in low voice.

"For my own good..." Spain grunted, and the man looked away with an expression of shame.

* * *

_«In the name of the European Economic Community and as the nation of Netherlands, I completely condemn the coup d'etat against Spain and wish this is solved as soon as possible with no injured.»_

_«Yeah, well, the attack on the House of Congress is a domestic issue Spain has to solve himself...»_

_«America, you bloody ungrateful manky wanker! A domestic issue? Are you fucking serious? This concerns us all! This is an outrage! This is terrorism! Me and my government will not tolerate this, and if we have to send our army, we will!»_

* * *

They took some other men out: Felipe González and Alfonso Guerra, from the PSOE, Santiago Carrillo, the minister of Defense, Rodríguez Sahagún and Mellado. Were they going to kill them? Spain didn't hear shots, but he had these chills in his back...

"Tanks have taken over Valencia, aiming at the Courts and the Town Hall" he was informed by lieutenant Ramos Rueda. "Captain-general has declared the state of exception. From now on, he is the president."

"He will only be if I legitimize him" Spain harshly said, "and I will do that when hell freezes over..."

"But your number 2 will. The king will have no other choice but to accept our conditions. The army is with us."

"After all we've been through to get our freedom..." Spain shook his head slowly.

"The lieutenant told you: this was a mistake..." Ramos walked away, leaving Spain alone.

He closed his eyes and breathed deep.

"It's okay, everyone!" he claimed so everyone could hear. "Everything will be alright!"

Would it? He wasn't that sure...If the whole army was on those people's side and there was no government...Juan Carlos could save his skin by handing him to those men...

He thought this time maybe...maybe...

Oh, it was surely too good to be true!

* * *

_«Good night, ladies and gentlemen. We have just been informed that an assault to the headquarters of Radio and Television has been frustrated. The rebels apparently tried to spread the message that the coup d'etat was a success. However, here we have declarations from the Captaincy General of Madrid and Granada showing their loyalty to Spain, the King and the Constitution. Hold on, the Ministry of Internal Affairs has just declared that a provisional government has just been formed.»_

_«Do we know something about Spain, Magdalena?»_

_«Unfortunately no, there are no news from our dear Antonio.» _

* * *

"Sit down, Mr. Spain" one of the assaulters asked Spain. "We can bring you something to eat, if you want to."

Spain raised an eyebrow.

"Are you kidding me?" he grumbled.

It was then when the doors opened and someone came in. A general. Spain wanted to approach, but they didn't let him. The man talked to Tejero privately.

"I come in the name of the King to stop this madness and propose a solution."

Why did they leave him out, being the nation? If there were negotiations going on, he had to be present, he...

It seemed it was over, then. This was the end of his freedom. He had no power now, not even over himself. Barely fives years he could taste it...Back to be controlled by others again...

"My general: I did not assault the Congress for this" Tejero exclaimed.

And the man who came in was kicked out, so violently Spain thought for a moment they were going to shoot at him.

* * *

_"But is Spain alright?"_

_"We are not sure. Those who were let out say there were no injured but..."_

_"Alright, let's go. This has to end now, before someone gets hurt..."_

_"You'll be on air in three, two, one..."_

* * *

_«I address the Spanish people with brevity and concision. In the face of these exceptional circumstances, I ask for your serenity and trust, and I hereby inform you that I have given the Captains General of the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force the following order: given the events taking place in the Palace of Congress, and to avoid any possible confusion, I hereby confirm that I have ordered the Civil Authorities and the Joint Chiefs of Staff to take any and all necessary measures to uphold constitutional order within the limits of the law. Should any measure of a military nature need to be taken, it must be approved by the Joint Chiefs of Staff. The Crown, symbol of the permanence and unity of the nation, will not tolerate, in any degree whatsoever, the actions or behavior of anyone attempting, through use of force, to interrupt the democratic process of the Constitution, which the Spanish People approved by vote in referendum.»_

* * *

"The ladies can leave the room. In order and in silence."

Tejero was nervous. After that last phone call, he did nothing but walk around the room. Like pondering on something. Bad news, Spain thought. He focused on his won feelings and perhaps it was due to being locked up in there so long, seeing that the Civil Guard was not going to shoot at anybody, bored, tired, but he found himself very calm and collected. And following this feeling, he approached Tejero.

"Sir..."

Tejero turned to him. His eyebrows furrowed.

"...I am doing this for you. All of this, all of this we are doing...is for you..." he said to him.

"I know. And you have no idea of how tired I am of it" Spain replied.

A long pause.

"Surrender now, lieutenant."

"I cannot do that."

"I will make sure you and your men have a fair trial."

"I gave my word of honor."

"That doesn't matter, lieutenant."

"Yes, you don't care about it anymore, but I do...When everything is crumbling around you..."

"Let me tell you this, from Antonio to Antonio: there are things which are more important than honor, discipline and glory..."

He looked at the man, eye to eye.

"...Even more important than me."

"Lieutenant..." a guard called Tejero.

And he turned his back on Spain and got out of the room. The nation sighed and walked around.

"Why wasn't I born a kitty? They don't have these troubles..." he muttered, running a hand on his face.

Whatever Tejero had to do outside, it took him long.

First, Suárez, Carrillo, González, Guerra, Mellado and Rodríguez returned to the room. Spain felt such relief he practically ran to them.

"Did they...?"

"It's alright. We're fine" Carrillo smiled, and González patted his back.

Tejero reappeared soon later.

"Everybody...can leave..."

Spain sighed in relief.

"Thank Jesus..." he muttered.

* * *

Outside, the press was crowded together to film the exit of the congressmen and the Civil Guard, who were immediately put under arrest. They tried to interview the hostages, and get a photograph of the assaulters. The reporters who were forced to stay had excellent testimony to publish as soon as they got out; some of them managed to hide their recorders and rolls and were ready to share them with the whole world.

"What will become of them?"

Suárez glanced at Spain with a smile, expelling the smoke of the cigarette he was smoking.

"Do you care?"

"Yeah..." Spain muttered.

"You are too nice."

"Mr. Spain!"

Spain turned around to find one of Juan Carlos' assistants.

"The king has been very worried and asked me to come pick you up."

It was then when Spain was told of what Juan Carlos had done: the speech, how he made the army obey him. You are with Spain or you are against Spain, he basically told them. And they didn't follow those rebels. It seemed Spain had some authority after all, and Juan Carlos was not the frontman many said he was.

"Mr. Spain, good to see you. Are you alright?"

So when Spain finally saw him, the first thing he did was to hug him.

"You can call me Antonio, you sure earned it..."

* * *

**The night from 23th of February to 24th, 1981, is known as The Night of Transistor Radios. All of Spain was glued to their televisions and radios to hear what was happening inside of the Congress. It seemed democracy was going to die soon after being born. A group of 200 civil guards, with lieutenant Antonio Tejero as the leader, took over the building for eighteen hours when Leopoldo Calvo Sotelo was being voted as president, after Adolfo Suárez was forced to resign because of the unstable situation of the country and his political party. This power vacuum was going to be used to perpetrate a coup'état, with a military occupation of Valencia. Also, one of the generals, Armada, tried to convince the King and Tejero to accept a new type of government, an alternative to what had been democratically voted, but nor Juan Carlos nor Tejero accepted.**

**The causes of this revolution were not only a rebellion from far-right members of the army, who lost influence after the death of Franco and the arrival of the democracy, but also the legalization of the communist party, PCE, the autonomy given to Catalonia and Basque Country, Spain giving Morocco its share of the Sahara, the economic crisis, with 20% unemployment rate and the increasing violence of the E.T.A. terrorists, mostly directed to the Civil Guard, the military and politicians.**

**The army, called to revolution, was unsure of what to do, whether to join the rebels or obey their authority, until king Juan Carlos I appeared on television to deliver a very clear message, asking them to obey him, and since then the coup d'état was considered a failure. First, the troops in Valencia surrendered, and Tejero had to desist. Due to the conditions of his rendition, no person under the rank of captain was judged. He was sentenced to 30 years of prison. He is out of jail now and he has been last seen in 2019, protesting the moving of Franco's remains from the Valley of the Fallen. His photo at the tribune earned the National Press Prize and the World Press Photo of that year and has become an icon of this event.**

**A movie was made in 2011 about this event, also a short series for the television in 2009, and it was also adapted into a theatrical piece by Jorge Moreno. If you ever visit the Congress (it is open to the public in December), you can still see the shots in the ceiling.**

**There was a lot of controversy about this for two reasons. On one hand, the United States and the Vatican were supposedly informed of what was about to happen, and the first did not condemn the coup d'etat until it was over (unlike the European Union and specially United Kingdom). Also, it has been said that it was all orchestrated by Juan Carlos I to legitimize his power. His image was indeed benefited from this—until now, when a series of scandals concerning his infidelities, safaris in Africa and corruption have blackened his name.**


	26. Concord

**1987**

* * *

There were only four or five of those devices in the whole country. Suárez had received one, Juan Carlos too, and now Spain was the proud owner of a Nokia portable phone. The problem was he had no idea of how that thing worked exactly.

"Juancar?"

Nope. Nothing. That thing made weird noises but he didn't hear his king. He had pressed all buttons they had told him to press, why didn't it work? He didn't want to break that thing, it cost 700,000 pesetas. So he looked at the instruction paper again and pressed the buttons more carefully, in case he missed a step or something, sure of what he was doing now.

But a sudden, horrible feeling inside of his stomach, like if he was burning on the inside, made him drop the precious device and made him writhe in pain, and people around him in the park approached.

"Mr. Spain?"

"Somebody call an ambulance!"

He was taken to the hospital, where the doctors found a third degree burn in the right side of his torso, something incomprehensible for a human being, because Spain had not been near a stove or any source of fire that day. It was all explained when agents from the government came to pick him up and told him the whole story.

He didn't want him to see the images, but he did. Because he wanted to know why he was feeling what he was feeling.

He saw the first floor of the parking of the Hipercor mall in Barcelona destroyed by a car filled with hundreds of kilograms of explosives and chemical products anyone could buy at the supermarket—home-made napalm. He saw a great hole which made a ball of fire ascend to the supermarket. What made him fall to the ground in pain was the shock of twenty one painful deaths, many of them burnt alive due to the ingredients used in the explosion, carefully selected to adhere to the skin and carbonize it.

E.T.A. claimed they warned the authorities but Spain only cared about one thing: his people had been injured, killed, and none of them were influential or worked in the military or the police. They were just families who wanted to buy groceries.

They were only civilians...

His tears were shared with Catalonia, when they saw each other at the funeral.

"Why do they do this...?" she wept in his shoulder.

Spain had to wipe the tears off his face before replying.

"Some people just don't know how to love nations..."

* * *

President González left the pen on the desk and grabbed the papers.

"So, we agree that the terrorist group Euskadi Ta Askatasuna does not represent the Basque nation."

He glanced at Basque Country, who nodded gravely. He looked like he would have spat on those people's face if they had been in the room.

"Also, and due to the abominable actions they have committed, we condemn the methods used to this day, consisting on extortion, intimidation and murder. All representatives of the Basque nation here present will have to publicly reject said actions and collaborate with the central government in the chase and arrest of all members of the band. No political party shall negotiate with the band again. E.T.A. will be required to cease all violence and surrender their weapons immediately."

González looked at both nations.

"Will that be alright?"

"Yes" Basque replied. Spain nodded too.

They should have known the band wouldn't take this pact well.

Spain lost balance for the second time in that year on December, when a car filled with explosives entered a civil guard barracks house in Zaragoza and caused the collapse of one of the building inhabited by families of members of the Civil Guard. Out of eleven casualties, two of them were wives and five, little girls. The youngest, twins, were only three years old. Some of the thirty six injured were left dramatically mutilated.

* * *

Spain was half asleep in front of the television when he got a call.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Antonio. It's me, Felipe."

"What Felipe?"

"What Felipe?"

"Ah, yeah. Sorry. I've met so many Felipes before...Did something happen?" he thought he was alright, but those days he wasn't sure about anything...

"It's good news, don't worry. France is going to collaborate with us to find these E.T.A. terrorists."

"Is he?"

"Yeah, don't you know?"

"I haven't talked much to France these last decades."

"Funny because he..."

_Ding dong!_

"Wait, wait a second."

Spain left the phone aside and rushed to answer the door. And who was there?

"...is here. I had a meeting with him this morning. Antonio?" González kept talking.

Spain gazed at France for long.

"...France..." was it a question? an exclamation? was he happy to see him or kind of angry? France couldn't read the tone of his voice.

"...Hello, Spain..." France also gazed at him with his hands inside of the pockets of his suit. "...May I come in?"

"Uh, sure..."

Spain walked to the phone, said to González he would call him later, hanged up and welcomed his guest as he deserved.

"Sit down, sit down. Uh, sorry about the mess. If I had known you were coming, I would have cleaned a bit...Yeah, that's my underwear, give it to me. Thanks. Sorry. Do you want something? I've got...let me see...orange juice, beer, soda, coffee..."

"No, thank you. I just had dinner" France replied, taking off his jacket and sitting down.

"I've got crackers. If you want something to eat..."

"No, no."

In that case, Spain returned to the living room and sat by France's side.

"Felipe just told me you came to offer your help against..."

"Yes...Uhm...I am really ashamed. Those who did what happened in Zaragoza...They were people from my house. They think I am not going to do anything to them because you have no jurisdiction in my territory...But I will find them and give them what they deserve."

"Are you serious?"

"Uh-huh. I really hate murderers...specially those who harm children..."

"...Gee, France, thanks a lot. That's a huge help."

France gazed at his own lap, then glanced at Spain.

"...How have you been? I mean..."

"Good, good...Well, you know, the recent events have left me a bit...scarred...but it'll get better, I know. Now that you guys let me join the European club I feel like a big boy, and I am so excited. Get to know people I have never talked to, hang out with friends, to important stuff..."

"Well, this is enough, what are you playing to?"

Spain hushed, staring at France blinking with confusion, his smile fading.

"...Pardon?"

"All of this you are doing" France snapped. "You know very well that I didn't want you to join and tried to convince everyone to leave you out. I turned my back on you when you most needed a bit of sympathy. I have not respected any pact we've made. I have done to you the vilest things I could come up with ever since the day we met. And you know what? I don't regret it. Not one bit. And what do you do? You welcome me in your house, offer me coffee and crackers and talk to me like we were lifelong friends. What are your intentions? You can't be stupid enough to just overlook all of that. If I was you, I wouldn't have even opened the door. I would have refused any help."

After a moment of silence, the smile returned to Spain's lips.

"You said it once. I am really, really silly. The silliest person alive" he chuckled.

Still smiling, he sighed.

"Of course I remember all of that. How could I forget. I still have some scars, mostly here" he pointed at his forehead. "And you know why it hurt so much? Because, despite everything, I have always considered you my brother. I still remember the times when all I had was you, a little girly boy called Gaul. That...that is the only thing I want to remember. The times when we were just Hispania and Gaul, two provinces no one cared about, who only had each other in the world. Grudge...let me tell you something about grudge, France...it only takes you to very dark places...I've lived in the dark for too long. Nowadays things are different. I have the chance to get to know nations who used to be so far away, I was angry at for a piece of land or a different belief...I have friends, I am no one's puppet anymore...I feel like I can be myself at last...A new me, a me who has learned a lot of valuable lessons...I know you, and some others think I am a fool, a clown. Yes. I know. But that's because I'm happy, okay? I'm happy welcoming people in my house, cooking for them, dancing and singing for them, showing them around my cities, swimming with them in my beaches. Even you. It doesn't compensate many of the things I did, but it does make me feel better. France...I don't know if you are jealous of me, or you think I am a second-class nation, or what, but I can't help it: you'll always be a very important piece of me. So every time you come here, I will greet you with coffee and crackers, and smile at you, and talk to you as if we were friends. We may not be, but to me...you are something close."

France lowered his head and Spain couldn't see his face with the hair. When he raised it again, he saw a big grin on it.

"Sweet Lord, you are the stupidest person who ever lived..."

And he got closer to place his hand on Spain's cheek and kissed his nose with affection. Spain returned the gesture embracing him.

* * *

**1989**

* * *

They passed by the remains of the wall, decorated with messages and graffitis, and Spain wondered once again if Prussia was still with his brother Germany, making up for all of those years being apart from each other. Had he been separated from his family in such a way, he said to himself, he would not have let go of them in four centuries, at least.

But there was Prussia, in the place convened. And it was funny for Spain to see him dressed in the modern fashion, with jeans, t-shirt and anorak. They embraced tightly.

"I'm so glad to see you again..." Spain muttered.

"They fed you well, I see" Prussia observed. "Good! Last time I saw you you were a walking skeleton—no, no, wait: you couldn't even walk."

"You are a walking skeleton" Spain chuckled. "What? Russia didn't treat you well?"

"Shut up! I don't want to hear that name as long as I live!"

"I have a solution. My cuisine will make you both recover the lost weight and remember what food is" France smirked.

"France! Gee, I haven't seen you in a while, either, come here, you!" Prussia laughed, embracing him too. "You guys came together? Weren't you enemies or something?"

"You've missed tons of things, my friend" Spain wrapped an arm around him. "But we've got a lot of time to catch up. I don't know you, but I do want to eat France's food."

"Worry not, Papa France will feed his babies" France also put his arm around him, involving Prussia, and the three of them walked together through the streets of Berlin.

* * *

**E.T.A. (****Euskadi Ta Askatasuna) was a Basque terrorist group which was born in the 60s with the intention of making Basque Country independent, using all methods necessary, including murder. We have seen in previous chapters that they even got to assassinate the president of Spain, Carrero Blanco. But they were considered to be fighting the Francoist regime, so nationally and internationally they were kind of excused. However, it all changed when democracy came and they still killed policemen, politicians and civil guards. The year which changed the public perception of E.T.A. was 1987, when they started to kill civilians. The Hipercor bombing is by far their most brutal attack and is considered the second most deadly act of terrorism Spain has suffered after the 11-M. They were negotiating with the government but this changed it all: president Felipe González (we saw him in the previous chapter as the leader of the opposition during Suárez's period) passed a bill by which all institutions, even the regional from Basque Country, would hunt them down. As a response, a branch which came from France attacked the civil guard barracks house in Zaragoza, most of their victims being children. All of these attacks brought immense fear in the lives of the Spanish people. Our parents often tell us about the times when they looked under the cars in case there was a bomb. Many people had to leave Basque Country because they were scared of their own neighbors.**

**But the bright side is that Spain and France started improving their relationships from this period. It seems France was reticent about letting Spain join the EU, because it would damage it would be a commercial competitor—in our country we don't hate the French, but we do have this belief that they hate us for some reason and are always trying to boycott us. However, the French police and intelligence has contributed an awful lot to capturing and judging these criminals, since they operated in France and have also killed French citizens. **

**Since this happened close to the year when the Berlin Wall fell, I like to think this is the beginning of the Bad Touch Trio.**


	27. Summer '92

**1992**

* * *

Spain only lived with Juan Carlos and the royal family at the Zarzuela palace when he had to stay in Madrid, he also still owned his little house in Barcelona, but he lived in Seville ever since Franco died. When asked why, he simply shrugged and recited the song: "_Sevilla tiene un color especial_". Furthermore, he didn't live in a villa, or a detached home, not even a duplex. His apartment was so simple he didn't seem the nation but one of his millions of citizens. It was situated in a residential neighborhood, near the cathedral, a building with white and yellow facade.

When he and his visitor returned home after picking him up from the airport, the neighbors soon came out to gossip.

"Antoniooo!"

They didn't stop calling until he opened the window connected to the patio.

"Good morning, _señoras_!" he greeted them.

"You didn't come alone, _truhán_, let us see!" one of them said, Puri, who had curlers on.

"You always bring home the most handsome men in the world, we want to please our eyes!" another one of them, Camino, who was smoking a cigarette, said.

"What will your husbands say?" but Spain obliged and soon a second person was seen by his side. "This is Cuba."

Cuba waved his hand to the ladies who greeted him with an exclamation of delight.

"_¡Ay, el cubanito!_" Puri exclaimed, biting her under lip.

"No surprise Cubans are so handsome, with such a nation!" middle-aged Trini said.

"You have the same nose, and the same smile!" Camino observed.

"Isn't he cute?" Spain patted Cuba's back, showing him off. "He's the most beautiful thing in the world!"

"Hope you and your cubanito come visit us!"

"Hahaha, see you, ladies! More good-looking nations on the way!" With that Spain, closed the window and kept chuckling for a while. "Ah, these ladies..."

"So nice" Cuba smirked.

"Don't worry, they won't bother you. They are just curious—and a little bit horny."

"It's okay, you know people back home are quite similar."

"So, yeah, what was I saying? ...Ah. Yep. You can keep my bedroom, I will sleep in the sofa."

"You don't need to do that, it's your home..."

"But you're my guest, and my little brother, so if I say you're keeping the bed..."

"Okay, okay, alright. If that makes you feel better..."

"Good! I want you to be comfortable. You're my guest."

"You sure love having guests, I see..." Cuba observed, looking at the framed photos on the shelf. Posing with an inexpressive Sweden in Benidorm, in a concert with a barely recognizable England, both him and Spain dressed like they were rock singers, in a terrace with America, so relaxed they would have gone against the 'no shirt, no service' rule if Spain had actually cared about decorum, having dinner (and lots of alcohol) with France and Prussia in that same room...

"Hospitality links the guest, the host and God. That's what a wise man taught me once" Spain said, serving a couple of beers.

"That's a nice teaching..." Cuba said, sitting on the sofa to drink with Spain.

There was a moment of silence, Spain avoided looking at Cuba.

"...How have you been doing, Cuba?"

"...I've been okay..."

"Ah, good..."

"You've been watching television, haven't you? And talking to the other guys" Cuba stared at Spain, taking a cigar out of the pocket of his shirt. "I don't know what you've been hearing but..."

He paused to lit the cigarette. Spain finally looked at him.

"...I've been okay" Cuba concluded, taking a long drag.

"...Sure...Still...You know I'll always be there if you-"

"There is no need for that, Spain" Cuba interrupted him, and Spain looked away again, scratching his hand.

Another pause. Cuba took a few sips at his drink and smoked in silence.

"...But thank you..."

Spain looked at him with a little smile.

"No problem."

"...You know...I know I've been talking shit about you, just like the others..."

"It's okay, Cuba. There's no need to go over old ground."

"We've always known you cared about your little brother Romano more than anyone in the world, but..."

"Is that what you think?" Cuba glanced at Spain. "Funny. Because...let me tell you something, and I hope you don't tell Romano, but he's always been my little brother, yes, but for me you guys...you guys have been my children. And don't tell anybody, but...specially you."

* * *

Curro, the bird-like mascot, waved his hand at the group as they passed by.

"Everybody! Please! Come closer! Don't disperse!"

It was kind of hard to control that group of twenty children, but Spain thought he was managing well. Those boys and girls were so eager to see everything around them, so many colorful pavilions with music, food, dance and singing. He was excited too, but their teachers had put him in charge, so he had to be responsible.

"Do you hear that? That's Senegal, playing his drums! Let's go see!"

The children, cheering, followed Spain into the African Plaza pavilion. Right after coming in, they were met by a dark skinned man with little hair in his head who was playing the strangest instrument the children had ever seen in their short life.

"Heya, Senegal!"

"Hello, Spain, children" that nation had a very soft and sweet voice, and the children gazed at him fascinated.

"What is that instrument you're playing?" Spain asked him.

"It is called linga" and he played a few more notes. "We sometimes use this as a way to communicate between ourselves."

"How?" a little girl with ponytails asked.

"It is a bit like Morse."

"Can I try?" a boy with glasses asked.

"Of course, come here."

Senegal welcomed the boy and gave him the little mallets he had used to produce the sound.

"Mmmmh!" he hummed, listening to him hit the wooden object. "Not bad!"

"Can I, too?" a fat boy raised his hand.

"Very well, come here" Senegal replied, gesturing him to approach.

"That nation over there, the one who is speaking at the conference" Spain said to the children after saying goodbye to Senegal, "that is Congo. He's a very smart guy, I'm telling you. And this beauty here, she is Kenya."

"Oh, Spain...How do you say 'you rascal' in Spanish?" she chuckled.

"That pavilion over there is dedicated to Morocco, let's go!"

"Wow, it looks like a palace!" a girl observed.

"I know, right?" Spain smiled. "Morocco always liked pretty things. Ah, look who's here! Hello, Egypt!"

"Ah, hi" Egypt stopped for a moment.

"Ow!" a few children exclaimed, gazing at him in awe.

"Are you having a good time?" Spain asked him.

"Yep."

"Talkative as always. Have a nice day, see you! I'm leaving with my ducklings here!" Spain let him keep walking and resumed his walk too. "He doesn't talk much, but he also has a great brain. And you have no idea of the treasures his house holds..."

"What is that, Mr. Spain?" a boy pulled Spain's shirt to attract his attention to a big block in the distance.

"That's Finland's pavilion!"

"It looks so dark!"

"Yep, it was built to resemble the Throat of the Devil, in his home!"

"He must be a pretty dark person as well!"

"Absolutely! Oh! Here he is! Finland! Come here for a second, will you?"

The children were surprised to see that the pavilion was dedicated to the nicest-looking person they had ever seen.

"_Moi_!" Finland said to the children. "Where I am from, it means 'hello'!"

"_Moi! Moi_!" the children started repeating, making Finland giggle.

"Are you being good boys and girls? Because Santa Claus lives in my house, and he's a friend of mine!"

"Sure, we are!" the children replied to him.

"Ask him why he didn't bring me the remote controlled car I wanted this last Christmas!" the tallest boy of the group said.

Finland giggled again.

"I have to go now, see you, Spain!" he said, waving his hand at him.

"Bye, bye, Fin! I hope you're having a good time!" Spain said to him.

"Terrific so far!" was Finland's response before running away.

They got into Greece's pavilion first, and there the children listened sat on the ground around him the stories he knew about Zeus and the old gods and goddesses, which had his little audience in awe, paying so much attention Spain found it hypnotic. Then, they visited New Zealand's, who showed them the Maori dances they did at his house, and even instructed a volunteer in them. After that, they followed Japan, who wanted to show them a show with typical Japanese instruments and explained to them afterwards what their names were and how they were played.

"Look, that's Cuba's parade!" Spain pointed out.

The children, excited, ran to see it closely. He didn't know if they were learning much, but if they were having a good time, he was glad. He was enjoying this so much, too.

"Hey, Spain!" Estonia attracted his attention. Latvia and Lithuania were by his side; the three of them were eating ice cream.

"Hey, guys! How's it going?" Spain smiled at them.

"Thank you for inviting us, we just came from taking a walk around Seville and, wow, it's so, so nice" Latvia said.

"Thanks to you, for coming. You'll be attending the Olympics next month, right?" Spain asked.

"Sure! You can count on us!" Lithuania smiled.

"I always wanted to see Barcelona, after Russia spoke so much about making it his private resort when he conquered you..." Estonia commented.

"Come on, Estonia, what did I tell you? Don't speak about him! I don't want to hear about him! Let me eat ice cream in peace, without having to remember..." Latvia was complaining while the three of them walked away.

Spain chuckled and was about to join his children when something made him stop. Near there, there was a solitary stand, made of wood planks, not very well built. He approached with an eyebrow raised.

"Hi?"

"Hello, sir! Visit Sealand!" a little boy dressed in a very old-fashioned way, blond, with think eyebrows and blue eyes, gave him a flyer, which was evidently hand-drawn.

"Sealand?" Spain smiled. "Ah! I think I've heard about you..."

"England probably told you about me. All lies! He says I'm not a real nation, but I am!"

"Hehe, sure..."

"There are millions of tourists here, and I'm going to sell my merchandise and promote my house. I'll become a touristic attraction, and get big and rich, and I'll kick England's butt for-"

"I've been told a boy dressed like a sailor kicked the ass of one of our Curros...Do you know what I am talking about?" Spain crossed his arms.

"No idea. But that guy probably deserved it."

"...Okay, you can stay..." Spain felt in an excellent mood, so he just walked away, smiling.

* * *

In late July and the beginning of August, the Olympics started, and Spain had the chance to see his international friends once again, this time in Barcelona. From the tribune, he saw that all preparations were worth it: it was perfect. Simply perfect. Well, he was so sad Freddy Mercury passed away and he couldn't sing with Montserrat Caballé at the show, but he was glad he had seen them together in 1988—it felt as if God's angels had descended to earth to delight them. But as for everything else, it was simply fantastic. That moment when Paralympic archer Antonio Rebollo lit the flame with a burning arrow? Simply swell.

"Holy cow, America is beating our asses in everything" Romano complained.

"Almost everything" Spain smiled at him.

"Oh, yeah, Germany's also stealing all medals."

"Hah! Take that, you assholes! I am the golden boy!" Prussia yelled, flipping off everyone around him.

"Shut up, _pasmao_, your brother is winning all of them, not you, you're not even a real country anymore!" Cuba mocked him, an arm still around Spain.

"You prick..." Prussia frowned.

"Hey, not to my little brother, man, eh?" Spain shook a finger severely.

"Wow, China is doing an amazing job too, did you see?" Cuba commented.

"True! Fourth place! Not bad!" Spain nodded.

"Hey, Spain!" China tapped Spain's shoulder with his finger. Talking about the devil. "Before I forget, when the competition is over you and I have to sit and talk about business, okay?"

Spain was handed a card he gazed at with a smile.

"Oh! Did you have a good time?"

"Yes! Thanks a lot!" China raised a thumb and winked before disappearing again.

"Look at you, Mr. Popular..." Romano crossed his arms and legs.

"Are you jealous, my boy?" Spain chuckled, squeezing his face, making him look like a fish.

"Leave me alone, _cazzo_! Nobody likes you! We're only here for the cheap alcohol and the weather!"

That was probably true, but still, this was being the best summer of Spain's life. Surrounded by so many amazing people, learning from them, teaching them about his culture...That summer, he felt a warmth he had never felt before.

_«Amigos para siempre means you'll always be my friend»_ Sarah Brightman and José Carreras sang for the international audience. _«Amics per sempre means a love that cannot end / Friends for life, not just a summer or a spring / Amigos para siempre / I feel you near me even when we are apart / Just knowing you are in this world can warm my heart / Friends for life / Not just a summer or a spring / Amigos para siempre»_

* * *

**Woo! I reached the year I was born! Concretely, I was born close to the end of the Olympic Games in Barcelona, the first time (and only so far) we have hosted the Games. It was a special time not only for Spain, concretely Barcelona, but it was also remarkable because those were the first time the Baltic nations participated after becoming independent from Russia, Germany as a reunified nation, and South Africa participated with the end of the Apartheid. The song for these games was "Amigos para siempre", "Friends for life", and it is a sign of how Spain was now making a name for itself abroad, with new friends from all around the world. ****The Expo of Seville, the same year, also contributed to this. It was a massive event which also changed the city and helped the world discover our country, as well as we got to know different cultures. After all, the motto was 'The Age of Discovery', because there were references to the 5th anniversary to the discovery of America.**

**Also, little notes: Cubans do have this powerful appeal in our country! And I think it was around this time when we started having an intense commercial relationship with China. Today, the Chinese are some of the most appreciated immigrants in our country: their stores are a real life-saver, very popular, there are celebrations for the Chinese New Year, specially in some parts of Madrid (I saw a few months ago the trains of the subway decorated like an oriental dragon in their honor), one of the biggest distribution places in all of Europe is in Fuenlabrada (Madrid), the Chinese are considered hard working and honest, with very low crime rate compared to other immigrants, and in this coronavirus outbreak hospitals have been receiving very generous donations of material from Chinese people. **


	28. Heart of darkness

**1997**

* * *

Miguel Ángel Blanco was born in Galicia but Basque Country considered him one of his children. Eager to make a change, he became a politician, for the People's Party. He was twenty nine years old. The 10th of July, he didn't get to work. This was not typical of him, he was extremely punctual.

It wasn't until radio station Egin Irratia received that call when Span started to worry.

_«We demand our prisoners to be moved to Basque territory. If by 4 p.m of Sunday 12th the government has not met our demands, Miguel Ángel Blanco will be executed and his blood will be on your hands»_

Spain was hugging himself, standing under the door, while José María Aznar remained sat at his desk.

"We made a pact, Antonio, we will not negotiate with terrorists" he told his nation, firm.

"But...they will kill him...I'm sure they will..." Spain muttered.

"We are looking for him. We won't let that happen...Go home, Antonio. Try to rest."

Rest...José María didn't really understand what being a nation meant. Millions of people were holding their breath, so he felt a great pressure inside of his chest, a lump in his throat. On his mind was the message wunnign in all of his territory, in every street, in every corner: 'Miguel, we are waiting for you'.

Spain sat on the sofa, after trying to sleep for a long time, and eventually picked up the phone.

"...Basque?"

"...You couldn't sleep either, huh?" his brother said at the other side.

"Are you okay?"

"No...I'm scared, Spain...For that boy..."

"...Everything will be alright, Basque, don't you worry."

"Those aren't men, they're demons...Do you think they'll let him go, even if the government did what they say?"

Spain didn't know what to reply.

The hours passed so slowly. Spain was told to calm down, distract himself, but all he did was watch the news, stare at the phone. The waiting hurt him as if every minute cut like a knife. In his mind was that photography of a young man and that desperate cry: 'Miguel, we are waiting for you'.

Hours became days—and when Spain realized, the deadline expired.

That night, as in anticipation, he didn't sleep at all.

He got the dire call at five in the morning.

A hunter had found Miguel Ángel in the open field, in Lasarte-Oria. He had been shot twice in the back of the head. When he was found, he was still alive...But there was nothing that could be done for him...

_«We have just been confirmed...that Miguel Ángel has been killed»_

The crowd gathered around the balcony let out a collective exclamation.

Inside of the building, Basque couldn't go out and say something to them. Spain saw him rush out of the room, lean on a wall and start bawling like a child. Spain approached to place a hand on his shoulder, tears running down his face. Just when he felt Spain's touch, Basque turned around and embraced him. In his arms, Spain let out all of his pain, the anguish he had been holding inside of his chest for three days.

"They are...they are...They are not my people! I have nothing to do with those murderers! I'm not..."

"I know...I know, Basque, I know..." Spain sobbed.

Basque's words became an outcry like Spain had never seen before, in the streets of Guipúzcoa, of all of the country.

"THEY ARE NOT BASQUE! THEY ARE MURDERERS!"

The people who once were afraid to face the terrorist now were not afraid to shout to their faces:

"DEATH TO E.T.A!"

"SONS OF BITCHES!"

It was something which concerned Spain and his siblings. There were no divisions. He, Basque and Catalonia shared their tears, stuck together.

"NOT TO E.T.A., YES TO BASQUE!"

The three of them were there to console the family, to receive Miguel Ángel's remains and bury them. They wore the blue ribbons they had been wearing during the kidnapping, they wouldn't take it off.

"¡MIGUEL! ¡MIGUEL! ¡MIGUEL! ¡MIGUEL!"

The members of Herri Batasuna were almost lynched by the crowd, but Spain managed to ease society, take all of that hate and do something good with it. He was in the head of the protests which filled his streets, along with his brother, because he was not to blame for what those people did in his name. He and his people became one single voice, which looked at E.T.A. to the face and shouted:

"ETA! HERE YOU HAVE MY HEAD!"

For a long time, all Spain was concerned about was chasing down those creatures (not men, but creatures). His people were getting killed, all because of a conflict him and Basque Country had. France and him worked hard on finding them and bringing them to justice. Also, his beloved neighbor visited his house frequently to cheer him up. "2000 is coming. The world is going to hell", he would often say, and the way he said it made Spain smile. Thanks to him, and Prussia's contribution, he didn't let himself fall into despair.

The new millennium came and Spain had the resolution of never losing sight of what was really important.

But it didn't start very well...

* * *

**2001**

* * *

Spain was playing guitar, playing a song from the 16th century, remembering the good old times...When he got the call. He got up quite lazily and answered.

"_¿Diga?_"

"Are you watching the T.V?" that was Prussia, and he sounded so excited.

"Nah, I spent the whole night hooked on this show, I-"

"Turn on the news!"

Spain gazed at the handset with an eyebrow raised. So he left it on the table for a second, walked to the remote and turned on the television.

_«...against the World Trace Center of New York, causing great damage, as we can see, in the last stories of the building, in flames—attention! We have seen one of the impacts, we are receiving live from the American television broadcasting...»_

"_¡Me cago en la puta!_" Spain exclaimed, wide-eyed. Now he knew Prussia was not excited, but disturbed.

"Did you see?! Did you see?!" he was saying when Spain picked up the phone.

"Yes, I am watching it! What the fuck was that?!"

"I don't know, but..._Verdammter Mist! _Are you watching it?! One of the towers is crumbling!"

Spain spent the whole afternoon glued to the television and with the phone in his hand. He tried to call England, but he didn't answer. He didn't bother calling America, he knew it would be useless. He did keep in touch with Prussia. It was him the one who finally gave him news.

"Germany has just spoken to England. America's in intensive care. His heart...just stopped."

* * *

Nobody remembered Canada, not even when he was there, near the door, with his arms crossed. Spain didn't even remember America had a brother. All of his attention was on England. He was pretty bad, obviously. As much as he complained about America being an ingrate and an idiot, as much as he held grudge about the way he left him after all he had done for him, he was still his little brother. Spain was convinced with little fear to be mistaken that America was once that one thing he loved more than himself; and there were things in life which were never gone completely.

Sat by his side, he offered his shoulder for him to rest. Not to cry, that was something England had evidently done in private—just so he knew he was there.

America was not a human, and he was strong, so strong, maybe stronger than many of them, he would make it. Still, such a big blow would have him in the hospital for some time.

What would happen when he came out? Spain wondered. He had heard one of the reporters from his house say that it was the beginning of a war; it was uncertain against who, but this would start a war. At that moment, he thought that that man was scarily right.

* * *

**2002**

* * *

"What...the...FUCK?!"

They had told him at first the situation was under control, then they admitted to him it was bad, but he couldn't have imagined it was that bad. When Spain got out of the car and walked to the shore, he placed his hands on his head.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no! My beach! My beautiful beach! Fuck!"

He cursed a little bit more. The Prestige, that big ship full of crude oil no one liked having near their beaches, entered the worst place possible, the Costa da Morte, which wasn't called the Coast of Death for nothing. It's hull cracked in two, and its content spilled. Thousands of tons of oil were blackening kilometers of littoral. Didn't he have a reason to curse like a sailor?

But there was a moment to curse, then he had to work. His people had already mobilize, it was his turn.

Since Portugal's and even France's coasts had been affected too, he was not alone. Wearing those white suits which soon turned black and masks, the three of them worked hard to get as much oil as possible.

"So" Portugal spoke, trying to make the task more bearable. "Do you guys know how euros work?"

"Nope. I still need someone to tell me how much everything is in francs" France admitted.

"I've had so many different systems and it never fails: once I get used to one, they change it" Spain commented. "Everything seems so expensive now..."

"Yeah. Oops!" France slipped and almost fell. "_Putain_..."

"I don't know about you guys, but I miss the times when we used wood and animal grease, and not this crap" Portugal complained, putting a good load of oil inside of the container.

His two partners agreed.

"By the way" Portugal said after a little pause. "How is America doing? After...you know."

"He's not okay, of course" France replied. "There is just one thing which prevents him from staying in his bed all day long: revenge."

"Sure..." Portugal nodded.

"He wants to make those terrorists pay. All he talks about lately is Al-Qaeda. I definitely prefer when he talked about movies and hamburgers...I don't know, but he's starting to scare me, how he's seeing enemies everywhere..."

"If they attacked you just like those people did, you'd get your tanks too, right?" Spain said to him.

"I'm just warning you guys to be careful with him. Our little boy just has no measure. He's young and acts like a child in many senses."

At that moment Spain's focus was on the black beaches and the dead birds, but years later he would think of France's words very often...

* * *

**2003**

* * *

"Chema...I'm...not really sure about this."

"Antonio, let me remind you something: allies help each other. You gave your word, now you have to do what you have to do."

Still, Spain traveled to the Azores unsure of what he was going to do. Portugal noted it as soon as he welcomed him.

"Did you eat something past the expiration date or what?"

"After what I saw in Bosnia I've had enough wars for the rest of my life...I really don't want to get involved in another one" Spain said to him. Portugal was once his husband and in a sense he was his brother. He knew he could tell him these thing.

"I have it understood that your boss had great interest in this meeting..."

"Well, him and I are having...discrepancies..."

"Sorry to hear that."

"Why is it so hard to find a boss who understands you...?"

"America and England are already here. Don't keep them waiting. Let's go."

He was taken to a room where said nations and their presidents were waiting. Some photos were taken, then the press followed their bosses while him, England, Portugal and America talked privately.

"Spain, you are a very helpful guy" America started saying. "You are very generous and like to make people happy."

"Where are you going with all of that flattery?" Spain interrupted him.

"You know Iraq is behind what he did to me and my people" America's expression turned serious.

"Well, her boss—maybe. But she...I don't think she's got something against you" Spain said.

"Oh, I assure you: she does. She wasn't sad at all when the World Trade Center crumbled, my people died and I was in the hospital for months. And I'd even say it's because I'm friends with Israel, but that's another story. Saddam, Iraq...It's the same. The thing is, she has weapons of mass destruction at home, and she doesn't want to admit it. Such weapons, in the hands of Iraq...That's a bit of a scary thought to me."

"...What do you think about this, England?" Spain turned his head to England.

If he was there, if he agreed with America...

England clasped his hands.

"It seems that Iraq does possess those weapons, and I don't think that's something any nation should have. We must make her understand the dire consequences they could have."

"And what if she doesn't understand?" Portugal wanted to know.

"We will have to convince her..." America intervened, crossing his legs.

"She has violated the pacts, that's the way I see it..." England argued.

"And you want me to participate..." Spain muttered.

"Portugal has already accepted" England said, and Portugal nodded.

"The UN will not support us publicly, but I've talked to Japan" he said, "and he told me, confidentially, of course, that we have the support of some of their members, him included."

"These are not times to be neutral, Spain" America said. "So if you have doubts..."

"I'm just tired of getting involved in war and death..." Spain said.

"Yeah, sure, you want to go back to your house, where the sun shines all the time, to drink sangría in a hammock. Well, sorry if I interrupted your placid life, I just thought we were friends and stuff, I thought you'd help me chase the people who hurt me, but, oh, well..."

"America" England interrupted his younger brother with a frown.

He got up from the sofa and crouched in front of Spain, to look at him to the eyes.

"I don't want to do this, either" he said to him, in lower voice, almost as if he wanted to speak to him confidentially. "But if we do nothing, something catastrophic might happen...This is not just a matter of vengeance. We just want to make sure that what happened on September 11th won't happen to anyone else."

Spain gazed at him, one of his best friends in the whole world. Then, he glanced at Portugal, who was sat with his arms crossed. And finally, America, who didn't even blink.

"...Okay..." Spain sighed.

Much was said and written about that meeting. Spain read in a newspaper that his president was called a traitor, and it was said that he had been forced to join America's group against Iraq, even people were demonstrating massively in the streets. But Spain felt he had made a mistake and there was no one else to blame but him.

* * *

**2004**

* * *

There was an exposition about Roman art in Seville, and Romano traveled to the city because he had contributed with a mosaic from his grandfather's treasures. Actually, Spain thought it was just an excuse to get out of his house a little and visit him, as much as Romano assured he only wanted to make sure 'his idiots' didn't ruin his _nonno_'s legacy.

"You can't even make pasta right..." he said that night, when Spain cooked dinner for him. Still, he stayed in his house during those days and slept in his bedroom.

That Thursday, a sudden noise, of something breaking, made him jump.

"_Coglione_..." he grunted, burying his face in the pillow. "Spain! What the fuck! Are you juggling with the mugs or what?"

He tried to go back to sleep, but was unable to, so he eventually got up, grumbling.

"You clumsy idiot...Next time you come to my house I'll drill the wall while you're sleeping..."

But when he walked into the kitchen, he found Spain on the floor, with pieces of a mug around him, and his anger just evaporated.

"Spagna!"

07:37 a.m.

* * *

_«E.T.A. has committed a massacre in Madrid, the bloodiest attack the group has ever done, to this moment it has caused one hundred and seventy three casualties and nine hundred injured. Five minutes have been enough for the terrorists to stain Madrid's morning with blood.»_

* * *

Veneciano started his day with music in the radio. Following the tune whistling, he arranged all ingredients on the counter to prepare banana pancakes. It was then when the phone rang.

"Pronto? Ah, Romano, w-What? ...Romano, what's the matter, you..." His smile faded. "...What happened to big brother Spain?..."

* * *

_«The Basque nationalism does not consider, even as a mere hypothesis, that E.T.A. is behind what happened today in Madrid.»_

* * *

America sipped from a glass of water before clearing his throat and addressing the cameras, the Spanish people watching him.

"Spain is a good nation. A good friend. He doesn't deserve what happened to him. No one does. The attack on innocent people, workers, students, was horrible. Brutal. I am with you, Spain. I promise: I will help you find whoever did this and receive the punishment they deserve."

* * *

At that time in the morning, the trains from the city of Alcalá de Henares to Madrid were filled with sleepy people who had bills to pay, students who were on their way to college, people in hopes of getting a job. Death was traveling in those trains too, in the form of several backpacks filled with explosives.

Kilometers away from Madrid, in his home in Seville, the first explosion made Spain drop what he had in his hands. The second and third, one minute later, made him fall to the floor. A simultaneous explosion in another convoy in El Pozo made his heart stop.

* * *

"My specialists are available for Spain's government to...identify the corpses and find clues" Israel declared on television, almost by the time Ireland, president of the European Parliament, spoke:

"The European Union would like to condemn this disgusting act against our friend Spain..."

* * *

_"It was...horrible...there was blood everywhere...some people fell to the tracks...Oh, God..."_

_"We have seen limbs a hundred meters away from the station, we have had to dodge them on the way here..."_

_"I want to go home...I want to go home!"_

_"The cell phones are ringing on the tracks, they're ringing all the time, all around the place, and I can't stand it..."_

* * *

"In solidarity with Spain" Poland declared on the radio, "I declare tomorrow, March 12th, a day of mourning. And wish Spain he gets well soon..."

Portugal, on the other hand, chose to address his people and Spain's on the television.

"...A day of mourning, starting today..."

They indicated him that they had finished. It was now when he allowed himself to close his eyes and swallow.

"Mr. President, I'm going to Seville."

"...Of course..."

That was the medium Romania chose too to deliver his message.

"This is an incredibly sad day for me too because my children have died in those trains too. For them and our good friend Spain, all flags will be lowered to half-staff and March 14th will be declared a day of mourning in all my territory."

* * *

_"What about our nation, Iker? Is he alright?"_

_"For what we know, he is still under intensive care. The last information we have is that his heart stopped and he is being stabilized."_

* * *

The television cameras filmed how the Royal Guard started playing the anthem under England and his queen's supervision. Not his anthem, but Spain's.

The Queen turned her head to her nation and saw him covering his mouth.

* * *

"Is he still unconscious?"

France also wanted to make sure his orders were followed. He was given information from Lyon, Marseille, Niza and Toulouse, and he was seeing that all buildings in Paris had their flags half-mast. As soon as all _arrondisements _showed their respect for their neighbor, France got in the long distance train.

"...Sure, I know he can't die, but...Jesus, I am still trembling..." he admitted to Basque Country over the phone.

* * *

It was unlikely that it was Cuba's yelling what woke Spain up, but Spain opened his eyes at the same moment his little brother kicked the president out of the room.

"Alright, alright, calm down, Cuba."

"Calm down? Look at him! How can you tell me to calm down! That man is a liar, he cares more about votes than his own nation!"

"I know, I am angry too, but, please..."

"Cu...ba?"

Both Cuba and Germany turned their heads to the bed. Portugal, by his side, leaned on him.

"Antonio..." he smiled, seeing his slowly looking around him, at the people who filled the room in spite of the orders of the nurses.

"How are you, Spain?" Prussia asked, taking his hand.

Spain closed his eyes again and started to weep.

Everyone tried to save him as much pain as possible, hiding the news from him, the horrible pictures of people running in the streets, filled with blood splatters and dust, the pieces of metal and flesh in the tracks, the smoke, the tears. They tried to make him see the bright side, all the anonymous people who jumped in to help the injured, to donate blood, the Muslim community calling to action and condemning the terrorists. Catalonia and Basque Country had come to stay with him. Sweden and Morocco traveled to Spain's house to join the protests.

But a new scar appeared on Spain's chest, right in the heart. It looked like the train network map of Madrid—Spain would have laughed if he wasn't crying so often.

It took him time to leave the hospital. His heart recovered from the attack, but his mind took some more time. Romano prolonged his stay in the house, his brother joined too. Basque Country and Catalonia visited often, they would have stayed if the flat was big enough for the five of them. Spain didn't need to watch the news to know how many lives had been lost, how many dreams exploded that morning. He didn't need anything to burst into tears at any chance. Sometimes, he felt he was running out of air, he had sudden panic attacks, and the Italy twins had to hold him in their hands to calm him down.

The voters punished Aznar for what he did to their nation, and one of the first things the next president, José Luis Rodriguez Zapatero, did after he was elected was to promise Spain he would be out of Iraq, whatever it took. When it was publicly announced that Spain would no longer intervene in Iraq's house, no one was surprised.

"France..."

France considered Italy had been taking care of Spain enough time, so he told them to go back home and offered himself to take care of him. Months after the attack, it seemed Spain was making a bit of progress, taking long walks with him around Seville, enjoying the displays of affection of his people, who stopped to pat his back and kiss his cheek. But things like those took time.

"Do you think Prussia's busy? Maybe he'd like to play strip poker or something. Last time we cleared him out, he might want revenge..."

"...Are you sure you...?"

"...Yeah...Enough crying...Life...goes on, I guess..."

France smiled faintly.

"I'm happy to hear that. For a moment I thought you'd..."

"Go crazy, start lynching Muslims and stuff? No. I...If...Look, I might have lost my mind for some time, but I am pretty aware of what happened around me, and I keep the good from this. You guys comforting me and stuff..."

Love. That was what mattered...

When the following year it was England's turn to be sent to the hospital, after Al-Qaida made him pay what he and his partners had been doing to Iraq, Spain made sure his Royal Guard played _God save the queen_. He would make sure England had a hand to squeeze and a shoulder to try on. Love was all that mattered...

* * *

**Terrorism definitely bit Spain's ass by the ending of the 20th century and the beginning of the 21st. **

**In 1997 E.T.A. kidnapped a young Basque city councilman called Miguel Ángel Blanco and threatened to kill him if their prisoners were not taken to jails in the Basque Country. There were tons of protests in the streets, the whole country followed this case with their heart on their throats. The government didn't yield and as a response Blanco was killed. There was a tremendous uproar, like Spain has never seen. If E.T.A. was seen like a bunch of monsters after the Hipercor attack, now the whole country was repulsed by them. Blanco's murder was the last straw, and since them the Spanish population has fought for E.T.A. to die. They eventually ceased all violence in 2011, but many of their members are yet to be found or have been freed from prison or in politics. **

**Then, in 2002, the year after 9/11 in the United States, Galicia suffered its biggest ****environmental disaster****, when a ship filled with oil sank and all the waste practically destroyed 400 kilometers of littoral. It even affected our neighbors Portugal and France. Thanks to the hard work of volunteers from all of Spain and even out of the country, the beaches were cleaned, but the ecosystem is still damaged and responsibilities are still to be taken.**

**The following year, president Aznar met with Tony Blair and George Bush Jr. to join actions in Iraq concerning the famous 'weapons of mass destruction' supposedly hidden there, and Saddam Husein's collaboration with Al-Qaeda, responsible for the 9/11. The Spanish society was against getting involved, but Aznar sent troops anyway. ****In 2004 Al-Qaeda made Spain pay for that bombing several trains in Madrid. **

**At first, it was said that E.T.A. did it. They did plan to attack a train due to the elections, but were stopped and they confessed they wanted to make an impact after the events concerning Miguel Ángel Blanco's murder but they didn't do it. This caused a great controversy and the anger of Cuban and German politicians because the real authors of the attack were hidden for electoral reasons (the elections were to take place that Sunday) and it prevented other countries to be on alert. The Spanish people also felt betrayed, and changed their vote to socialist Zapatero, who took the troops out of Iraq. **

**The 11-M is considered the biggest attack to our country and the wounds are still healing. 202 people died and 1857 were injured. Many places in Madrid have a monument dedicated to the victims, including the train stations where they exploded: El Pozo, Santa Eugenia, Alcalá de Henares, and specially Atocha. If you ever take the train there, take a look 500 meters before you enter the station: you will see there are flowers in the fence, right where one of the bombs exploded. In Atocha there is also a big monument with the names of the people killed and messages of hope in several languages. Furthermore, in Puerta del Sol, next to the plaque dedicated to the heroes of the War of Independence in 1808 there is also one for those who helped the victims of this attack; and the Forest of Remembrance, with one tree for each victim, was built in the city. Two famous singers, Luz Casal and La Oreja de Van Gogh, made songs related to this: _Ecos_ and _Jueves_, respectively.**

**Spain's reaction is based on the psicosis and fear Madrid's people lived those days. I won't forget the image of people suffering panic attacks when taking the train days after this.**

**Unfortunately, unlike the 9/11 and 7/7, which London suffered the following day, Spain's society didn't join together, but fractured...**

**Also, reference to the Bosnian War (1992-1995), to which Spain sent troops for humanitarian purposes.**


	29. Past and present

**2010**

* * *

"I...didn't know you were interested in...you know."

Emirates took his eyes off Reccared's cross for a second to chuckle.

"My museums are thirsty for art from all around the world. And Christian too, yes. This" he said, pointing at the crucifix, "is a fine example of Visigoth goldsmithing. The amount you asked for it is fair. I will make you a check right now."

And so he did, right in front of Spain. The Iberian nation saw a generous amount of zeros in the paper.

"I'm just wondering..." Emirates said, giving it to him. "Isn't it a pity for you, having to get rid of it, after so long?"

Spain smiled, caressing the paper with the tip of his fingers.

"Not that I'll forget Reccared without it. These things...they are just objects, after all."

"Debatable. But I respect your decision. I am very pleased about our deal. I hope it helped you improve your situation..."

Spain wasn't sure if Emirates said that mockingly. Everybody knew he was not in his best moment, and he, one of the richest guys in the world, one of the few who had not been affected by that worldwide crisis...No. Probably he was imagining things.

"Yeah, it was a pleasure" Spain smiled, shaking his hand.

So he returned home, in the cheapest fly he was able to find to Emirates' house, with a good amount of money in his pockets, and the first thing he did after cashing it was making a few visits.

First, a priest who fed the hungry in Vigo. Then, a free school for hairdressers in Granada. Later, an association for the unemployed in Madrid. And after that, a daycare center for families with no resources in Cáceres. The last stop was in Tarragona, where a neighborhood association was gathering food for those who needed it.

"But Mr. Spain!" the president exclaimed when Spain showed up with all those shopping trolleys filled with non-perishable and varied food and hygiene products.

"Antonio, please. No mister" Spain smiled.

"A-Antonio, this is too much, why..."

"It's the least I can do...I have failed you too many times, I'm afraid, and I hope this can make up for it."

Yes, with actions like those he was honoring God too, there was no need for a golden cross...

Those were being tough months, being penniless, but at least he had little moments of peace and fun. Like the World Cup.

"..."

The man sat by his side in the plane was staring at him for so, so long Spain turned his head to him and smiled.

"_Hola_."

"...Aren't you the nation?" the man asked, removing his reading glasses.

"Yep."

"I always wanted to tell you something."

"Oh, yeah? What is it?"

"Why did you let faggots get married? Franco would be ashamed."

And with that, and after shaking his head with disappointment, he kept reading his newspaper. Spain kept smiling, nevertheless.

"...Huh" he muttered. Yep, one met the best people in tourist class.

It was the final match against Holland. His team had made it. He was so proud no one and nothing could spoil it.

"Wow! Your boys are good!" he said to his little brother, sat by his side.

"I know" he said as he lit a cigarette.

"I think it's forbidden to smoke here, you know?"

"Says who?" Holland replied. Yeah, the game was being really close. Spain felt so nervous he was squeezing one of his paper tissues.

"It isn't tobacco, right?"

"Mmm."

It was then when Holland's player, De Jong, kicked Spain's Xabi Alonso in the chest so hard Spain flinched.

"Owww!"

But the referee only saw something worth a yellow card.

"Yellow?! Are you kidding me?! Yellow?! That was an attempted murder!" Spain was so outraged he stood up.

"He didn't mean it" Holland calmly said.

"Sure you defend him!" Spain complained, frowning at him.

Holland didn't take it into account. Spain was very passionate, and the game was being really exciting. When the time ended, they were in a 0-0 tie. They had to wait for the overtime for a result.

"_¡Vamos, Iniesta! ¡Vamos, Iniesta! ¡Vamos, Iniesta!_" Spain yelled, getting up unconsciously with every Iniesta he pronounced, as the player ran to the rival goal. Holland also leaned forward, his hand squeezing the seat.

And then...

"¡GOOOOOOOOOOOOL!" Spain shouted even more than the announcer. He jumped out of his seat and forgetting about Holland, who just took a long drag with a frown, ran to the field to hug the one who gave him the victory and kiss his bald head.

"Iniesta of my life!" he filled his face with kisses.

Just for a moment, he forgot about his financial straits. It seemed so small in comparison...

* * *

**2015**

* * *

_«You and I have unfinished business, you can't keep ignoring me like-»_

Spain stopped the video and left it aside, opening the video recording app. Mexico's and Venezuela's words about him, about what he did to their lands, to their mothers, to them, was still in his head—ah, Venezuela! he hoped she was eating well!—, and wondered if this would change things. He wondered if those people would forget what he did to their ancestors, if the hate had passed on from generation to generation and he would always be the ogre, the Big Bad Spanish Empire.

He shook his head and pressed the record button.

"I know I have made mistakes in the past and I want to compensate them. Things have changed in five hundred years...I have changed. That is why all Sephardic Jews descendants of the millions that were expelled from our home are welcome back and will be able to acquire citizenship. I know this will not repair the damage I caused, but I want you to know...I am very sorry."

Spain stopped recording and sent the video to his press bureau, which would make sure this reached the right people.

After that, he checked the time ad saw it was time to get moving. He didn't want to be late for his meeting with the producers.

Oh, a new text from Catalonia.

_«Spain, I saw you've opened the text, you desvirgagallines de los coll-»_

Spain again ignored it to write one for Juan Carlos.

_«So, where are you, bribón, hunting in Africa or in the bed of some blondie?»_ He allowed himself to be this direct because he had met many kings in his life and knew all of them had had their little affairs. He was not judging, though. He supposed they couldn't help themselves. _«Asking you in case you're free to have a beer with me or something.»_

Then another one for Philip.

_«Happy first year of reign! Rate your experience. 5=I love Antonio / 4=He's a good guy / 3=I would rather be Holland's king / 2=Oh, God, why / 1=One of these days I'll jump out a window.»_

He answered almost immediately. He surely caught him in one of this moments of inactivity.

_«5/5. Would repeat. :-P»_

Spain chuckled. After that, he put music on to make his way to the studios more lively.

_I used to roll the dice / Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes / Listened as the crowd would sing, /"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!" / One minute I held the key / Next the walls were closed on me / And I discovered that my castles stand / Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand_

"It is an immense honor to have you" the lady who greeted him, a young lady who introduced herself as Alicia, said to him with a great smile. "We couldn't have found a better consultant."

"I am so honored to help! I really like the idea. And it brings back so many memories..." Spain smiled.

"So, about the script..."

"I gave my correction to your partner. There were mostly mistakes about the language which was used those days. But it was mostly excellent! Well done!"

"We are carrying out some characterization tests on Philip II. Since you lived with him, would you mind if..."

"It'll be a pleasure."

He was taken to the make-up room, where he faced a ghost.

"Do I look like him?" the actor asked.

Spain smiled after a short pause.

"May I hug you?" he asked, and his eyes were a bit watery when he made that question.

* * *

**2018**

* * *

_«ETA releases statement announcing its complete dissolution. Historic declaration puts an end to the organization 59 years after it first launched its violent campaign for Basque independence.»_

_Clink!_

Spain and France clinked their glasses and took a sip.

"We did it, man...We did it..." Spain sighed.

"Aren't we the best? Not going to lie, we are the best" France smiled.

"Mmmh!" Spain licked his lips. "I don't want to admit it, but your champagne might be slightly better than mine."

"I mean, isn't it obvious?"

France caressed the lip of the cup with a finger.

"That reminds me...I did not ask you sooner because I supposed you'd still be recovering from what happened in Barcelona and Cambrils, but...how are things with your sister Catalonia?"

"She's...been acting like a brat lately. She's declared herself independent and doesn't want to hear any word I say to her. She's like 'I am an adult and a real nation and you treat me like a maid!'. As if I didn't have enough with my little siblings in Latin America attacking me for something I did five centuries ago...Did Canada do these things to you?"

"Canada? Oh, no. Absolutely. _Mon petit _didn't go through that phase, luckily..."

"She's been sneaking into our meetings, trying to be recognized by you guys, right? Someone told me the other day."

"Okay, it's been a mistake bringing up the topic and giving you alcohol. This was supposed to be a celebration, and if I know you well, which I do, you will soon start with the 'buaaah, my children don't love me' and all of that, and I don't want you to spoil my Vuitton shirt with your tears and snot..."

"Yes, that's what I'm saying, why did you bring it up, you asshole? You're always putting your finger on the sore spot and twisting it..."

"I'm not going to lie, I kind of miss it, fighting you. It became as natural as breathing. Now that we have nothing to face together, what are we going to do?"

France left his cup on the table and joined his fingers.

"This is the way I see it: we either make war or we make love. There is no in-between."

Spain stirred his glass in thought. Then, he placed his glass on the table too and looked at France, opening his arms.

"...I've been married to guys but actually have no idea of how to make love to them: you'll have to break the ice, _nation de l'amour_."

France chuckled and broke the distance between them. Spain laughed as he welcomed him in his arms.

Oh. Sweden was staring at him in one of the photos. Spain extended his arm to turn the frame around.

"Damn, what a man..." he muttered, not able to escape from those intense blue eyes.

"Thank you" France groaned, so, so close to him.

* * *

**And the first decade of this millenium was still horrible to Spain. In 2008 the global economic crisis starting in the United States, joining the situation in the country due to the real state bubble, tax evasion, low productivity, etc. made the situation so bad the European Union had to rescue the country. Many people lost their job, the purchasing level dropped, many people were evicted from their houses—to this day we haven't fully recovered from it, and there are people who are still suffering the consequences. This caused the 15-M massive protest, a camping in Puerta del Sol in which people protested against the system and bipartidism, which favored the creation of new political parties like Podemos. Also, it was a time when charity brought the best out of people.**

**The last decade was a bit more generous, however. In 2010 winning the World Cup in Africa made the country vibrate and it was one of the few things which cheered us up and joined us during those dark times. It is true that during these years the whole world suffered frequent terrorist attacks, and Barcelona was also a target, when a van ran over people in Las Ramblas, killing 13 people, and in the nearby city of Cambrils one woman was stabbed to death. The homages were a bit eclipsed by the complicated situation due to Catalan independence movement growing strong this year, with a one-sided declaration of independence. Since the Spanish constitution explicitly forbids regions from becoming independent, the Catalan government was treated as traitors. Some of its members fled to several places of Europe; Belgium becoming the place former president Carles Puigdemont chose to spread his message to Europe. Those who stayed are now in prison for sedition. Just a few months ago there were very violent riots in Barcelona due to the sentence. **

**But there is more to celebrate these last years: in 2018 the terrorist band E.T.A. announced its dissolution, something France and Spain celebrated together.**

**It is referenced that Juan Carlos I abdicated in 2016, maybe forced by the scandals which had been giving the crown a bad name, and a very popular Spanish TV series, _The Ministry of Time_, which is about time travels, concerning a secret ministry which makes sure that the history of our country does not suffer any alterations.**

**Also, I had into account bunoro's design in DeviantArt for United Arab Emirates.**


	30. On, and on, and on

**2020**

* * *

"Good morning, princesses!"

"Antonio! Hi!"

"Ready for a little trip?"

"Of course!"

Leonor would inherit the crown when the right time came. He didn't have the chance to be there when her father was born, but she...he was there from the very start, and he had learned from the mistakes of the past. They were going to spend a lot of time working together, so he'd better do a good work with this one. Sofía would stay an infante, but Spain just didn't have the heart to leave her out, and he was sure she could learn a valuable lesson too. He loved them both equally.

"Look."

Spain stopped to point at a group of children from a Special Education school walking in line, supervised by a teacher.

"What do you see?" he asked the girls. "Many centuries ago I met a boy who was treated very bad because he was different, even if he was a powerful king. We are all the same in the eyes of God. Their condition is not a punishment, and they are not animals. Nowadays, we have things that can make the lives of people like them much better. We have so many things to learn from them if we bothered to listen. When you find people like those, think they just have different capacities. Always try to be kind to them. In fact...you should always be kind to everyone. Why do people visit us? Yeah, I know cheap alcohol and good weather, but we want them to come back and tell everyone how nice we are. They bothered to come here, sometimes from very far away. So the least we could do is being good guests."

"But you said the other day that England was being an idiot, throwing chairs out of the window and jumping to the pool from the balcony" Sofía said.

"Yes, you see, Sofía, my dear, that's because England is suffering a lot of tension because he can't help being a really complicated man, so when he comes here he drinks too much to silence the voices in his head and makes a fuss, but he's not a bad guy. I used to hate him but he's actually one of our best friends" Spain replied, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"So we have to overlook everything people do here?" Leonor asked.

"Just try to understand that everyone has a story, and sometimes it is a sad one, so we have to be understanding. Not stupid, but understanding, okay?"

They kept walking, stopping in front of a fence.

"See this? That is the monument dedicated to those who died for me. It says 'May 2nd', but I like to think this monument represents all those who gave their lives for me. They are here, in my heart. Those whose names you kids study at school and those History has forgotten. Do you know why my second name is Carriedo? Because of a good man I met once and I will never forget. He, like many others I've met with the centuries, was not important, but if it wasn't for them, I wouldn't be here, I would be someone else. Take that as another lesson: don't forget the little people, those who are not important, those who apparently won't make a difference. Because they are precisely the ones who change the course of history."

"And Fernández? Who is that from?" Sofía asked.

"A great man, Ferdinand. You know him as Ferdinand II. His decisions shaped me into what I am today—he made me feel like I had a family. No matter what, I will always have a family. Also, is there something more Spanish than Fernández?"

"What about Antonio? Let me guess...Saint Anthony!" Leonor said.

"Nope! It just sounded cool!" Spain chuckled.

"You're a liar! You just don't want to tell us!" Sofía exclaimed.

"So, why Leonor? Why Sofía?" Spain smirked.

"Hey, we didn't choose our own names like you!" Leonor crossed her arms, pretending to be offended.

"Hey, hey, girls!" Spain interrupted the conversation. "How about we call our good friend Romano?"

"Yaaaay!" the girls exclaimed.

So Spain took out his phone and marked the number.

"Romanitooooo!" the three of them said at the same time.

"You again?! What do you want?! I've got things to do!" the voice of Romano grunted at the other side of the line.

"What are you doing?" Spain asked.

"The hell do you care?!"

That day, everyone said it, the sun seemed to shine brighter, warmer—not really hot, just—perfectly warm.

* * *

**THE END**

* * *

**Wow! Finishing this was kind of like an exorcism! I am glad I did this because by documenting myself to write I was able to join together the pieces of my rushed education in History of Spain and got really passionate about it. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and it helped you understand this little piece of the world and its inhabitants. **


End file.
